


Try to Wake Up (You Can't)

by FaithInDawn



Series: Hate the Sin, Love the Sinner [1]
Category: Five Nights at Freddy's
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Child Murder, F/F, F/M, Insomnia, M/M, Magic, Mental Instability, Multi, Murder, Mystery, Nightmares, Original Character(s), Possessed Animatronics (Five Nights at Freddy's), They were roommates (Omg they were roommates), world building
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-08
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2020-11-27 07:09:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 23,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20944352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaithInDawn/pseuds/FaithInDawn
Summary: It goes like this:Michael Afton was presumed dead, shortly after a tragic accident that left his skull crushed in the teeth of a Golden Spring lock Bear. A week later and miraculously, the boy emerges from his house, dis-orientated, in pain, but alive.Not long after, his brother is killed in the backroom of the place he loves and fears the most.He doesn't go back again for a long time.It goes like this:William Afton adores his youngest son above all else; even Henry. He adore's his daughter, bright-eyed and ever so sweet, and once he had adored his oldest, but not anymore.He doesn't love them enough to stop though.There is no stopping, not until his plans are complete.It goes like this:Charlie wants nothing more than to just make it all stop. She's tired of the pain, the killing and the atrocities taking place floors below the ground.She can't do this on her own, though. She needs backup.She needs help.But most of all, she needs one afton to beat another, whether he wants to come along with her plans or not.She'll drag him kicking and screaming if she has too.





	1. Part One, Chapter 1: Diggin' ya Own Grave.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edit 1 - 07/09/2020  
Holy Shit i'm alive, I swear.  
So if you followed this long ago, I had two chapters up. Thing is, I already hated chapter two and it put me off going further with this fic. I had a clear goal in mind for characters and I'd already kinda screwed it up.  
I've been busy at work the last few months, but only recently have I had the motivation to restart this. Instead of going from where i'd left off, I decided to re-write it using the old chapters as a general base. Chapter one is both very different, and very much the same.  
Thank you to all the people who originally commented in this story. I'm really sorry about the changes, and I appreciate your support from back then! I hope this revised first chapter gripped you the same way the original did.  
This hasn't been thoroughly beta tested yet. I'm going to send it to my friend who beta's for me, and read through it myself when I get home.

The sound of an alarm blares through the small apartment painfully, shrieking it’s dissatisfaction over existing for all to be heard. The occupant curled up in bed, wrapped in layers of bedding with only a wild mess of hair peeking through the sheets lets out a loud groan, twisting and turning in a vague attempt to free himself of his warm prison.

He curses his own sleeping self for getting so tangled as he wiggles and worms his upper half to freedom, ignoring the rush of cold air against his skin as he reaches the small distance between his bed and the bedside table in order to slam dunk his old and half broken alarm into silence, but jerks back just in time, as a metal hand slams down in his place, cracking the piece of plastic into pieces. The alarm whines it’s last dying shriek before falling silent.

“Much better!” A far too joyful voice chirps. Mike glares half-heartedly through sleep tousled bangs at the broken alarm. Yay! Another one bites the dust. That’s three in the last month, and it’s only two weeks in. He turns his gaze up to the other ‘person’ before him, looking like a ruffled kitten baring his non-existent fangs.

“Stop. Breaking. My. Stuff” Mike seethes, grunting in annoyance as he extracts himself from bedding burrito and further into the land of the living… if one could call an obnoxious metal roommate a living thing.

“It was breaking a-a-anyway! I just saved you the trouble is all! You should be t-thankful” Mike frowns at the stuttering of the metal behemoths voice. He’d fixed up the voice box just last week. Seems the troublesome animatronic was always getting itself banged up. He’d have to look at patching it up again, lest it get worse. “B-Besides, you don’t need that thing when you have me to wake you u-up!”

Mike shoots the other an unimpressed look, raising a brow. “Last time you said that, I woke up two hours late. The moment your soaps come on, you forget everything around you” He points out, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and pulling himself up with a small groan. He has to tilt his head up to meet the mask of the wired abomination he calls a roommate, both due to his smaller stature, and the other’s looming frame. They’re a right pair side by side, with Mike barely reaching the others upper arms.

Ennard blinks back down at him, looking almost innocent, not that Mike would ever believe as such, before moving off towards the kitchen, wires shifting and rubbing together noisily. Mike follows along behind him, the male rubbing the sand out of his eyes as he walks. “D-Don’t be such a d-downer Eggs, look on the b-bright side! You got fired for it, s-sure, but now you have your d-d-d-dream job”

Mike idly flicks through various ways he could dismantle the hunk of junk as he turns on his worn down coffee machine, shooting the other an annoyed glare. “You think you’re funny but you’re not.” He tells Ennard, pointing a finger at the other for added effect. “Nothing dreamlike about where I’m going” He leans on the countertop with his elbow, stifling a yawn a he waits for his drink to brew. Fuck, he’s so tired.

“What do you mean? You’ll fit right in Eggsie. You’ve a-already got the corpse-like c-complexion” Ennard coos, settling his large body in ‘his chair (i.e the only chair that can actually take his weight) and placing large hands on the scratched-up table.

“Ha ha” The machine dings, and Mike perks up, turning around and grabbing at one of his few mugs placed on the draining board, filling up the cup and taking in the blissful scent of roasted beans. He curls his hands around the warm ceramic, sitting himself down opposite the clown-faced asshole and letting the yawn he’d been keeping down out. Ennard glances one singular eye over to him, the staticky noise bursting from his chest his own form of snickering laughter. Mike flips him off in return.

The scruffy-haired male blows carefully on the dark liquid (black, because we die like men in the Schmidt household damnit) before taking a tentative swig, the bittersweet drink a balm to his already fraying nerves. Other people get addicted to drugs, Mike gets addicted to Coffee at ten in the morning blacker than his soul. His dad would be proud.

Taking slow sips from the already cooling liquid, Mike takes a moment to glance around the small yet homey apartment, sighing in annoyance at the scratches on the bottom of the floor, most likely left from Ennard’s wired feet.

Not much he could do, really. The wired amalgamation refused to get anything work done on him that wasn’t basic repairs. Stubborn bastard.

He leans back in his chair, idly noting the wobble as he does so. Great, another thing to replace at some point when he actually has the chance to. Behind Ennard, whose half-heartedly scrambling through yesterday’s paper, the back of their sofa can be seen, Mike’s obnoxious purple uniform sits neatly folded.

He’s pretty sure he didn’t leave it that way, in fact, the moment he’d gotten home from his sketchy as fuck ‘introduction’, he’d thrown it in the general direction of his bedroom (it had landed on the hallway floor, not that he really cared), and collapsed in front of the TV to watch the newest Soap he’d started watching.

Ennard wouldn’t have bothered making it look neat, in fact knowing the antagonistic asshole, he’d probably have ripped it up or covered it in Jurassic Park stickers (“A-All the cool kids love Jurassic Park, Eggs. Don’t you w-want to be a cool Kid?”)

(He doesn’t. He really doesn’t)

Which meant their third and final roommate had slinked his way out of his ‘room’. Mike purses his lips, not in the least bit surprised that his oldest companion had pulled himself out of his slumber, especially considering what the date was and where Mike would be heading too.

“You want me to pick you up anything from the store?” Mike asks after a moment’s pause, tearing his eyes away from his uniform, and pushing down his rampant thoughts and the bile that rises in his throat. Freddy’s always has him on edge, and today is no exception. Ennard blinks at him from across the table, mask as creepy as ever and eye twitching.

“B-Butter” Is the instantaneous reply. Of course, why would he expect anything else? “And not the cheap kind either, d-don’t skimp out on me eggsy! Oh! And the n-newspaper, of course”

“Of course,” He mutters back, shaking his head in amusement. “The highest quality of butter for his highness, and a royal newspaper to match”

Ennard lets out a garbled snicker, his voice box crackling slightly at the burst of noise. Behind Mike, another presence makes itself known. The air shifts in a way that puts Mike’s hairs on edge, unusual considering the third ‘person’ entering the room is normally far more controlled with his unearthly atmosphere.

“New threads, if you would please Michael. I’ve run out of black” A gentle voice speaks behind him, and if he didn’t have the pre-warning of the puppets presence, he would have screeched in surprise. Instead he jolts slightly at the sudden voice, his coffee sloshing over the rim and trickling down onto his finger. He pulls his hand away, frowning in dismay at the cup as he licks the liquid off of his skin.

Betrayed by his Vice. Damn that stings.

Ennard tilts his head, his shoulders shifting as he slinks further down into his chair. It creaks in protest but doesn’t break. Thankfully. His one singular pale blue eye rolls towards the towering puppet hovering behind Mike, spindly hands momentarily resting on the back of the human’s chair, before releasing the wood.

“Butter, Newspaper and some threads. I need to pick up a snack as well otherwise I’ll starve halfway through the night” Mike pushes his mostly empty mug away from him begrudgingly, glancing over his shoulder at Mari. The puppet’s fluid dace is pulled into a small smile, white dots acting as eyes looking right back at him. It’s almost tender, the way long slim finger run through his hair briefly, brushing at the dark overgrown locks before falling to the puppet’s side. The animatronic glides past the two, settling himself down in the third chair circling the small table, knees tucked underneath himself.

After being around the other for as long as Mike has been, and got it’s been a hell of a long time, you tend to get used to the almost human-like movement and actions.

“I can make you a sandwich before you go?” Marion chimes, tilting his mask to look at Mike. There’s humour in the words, laying over a bubbling pot of truth. No matter his age, the animatronic has no issue treating Mike like a small child who needs looking after. Ennard shuffles in his seat, hissing and pulling his newspaper closer to his chest when the other looks over to him, as if the puppet was about to steal his ‘possession’. Mike rolls his eyes at the familiar routine from the jumble of wires.

What a brat.

“There’s a café on the way to the restaurant” Mike leans back in his chair, tearing his eyes away from the two to stare up at the ceiling instead, nose wrinkling at the paint splatter that had most definitely not been there the day before.

Fucking Ennard.

“I’ll grab a late lunch there, and some snacks from the store. Should keep me going for the night” He adds.

“You’re sure?” Marion asks, voice gentle. The almost parent-like mannerisms of the animatronic is nothing new to Mike, and he rolls with it, knowing the other doesn’t do it to offend. After the incident, and Mikes run around ‘downstairs’, the puppet’s protective nature over him had doubled.

“I’m a big boy, Mari” He replies, shooting a small smile at the porcelain face. “I’ll space it out properly, I promise. God knows I’ll need the energy.”

“You s-s-survived me just fine, and you were sleep deprived and starving constantly!” Ennard chirps gleefully, straightening himself up in his chair and causing the table to creak painfully as he leans his body weight over it. “I could hear your stomach rumbling each night. Ha! You humans make the funniest of noises. Nearly got’ya caught by Ballora, ya know?”

“Yes, thanks for the reminder.” Mike shoots Ennard a half-hearted glare. The Animatronic only seems to become more amused.

Marion lets out a tinkling sigh to his right, nearly drowned out by the garbled static coming from the clown-faced behemoth next to him. “I wish I could go with you” The puppet says, his tone pushy.

They’d had this conversation countless times now. Marion didn’t want Mike going there alone, scouting out the situation alone. He feared the human’s safety, and with the missing guards and the knowledge from previous locations, the puppet wanted nothing more than to coddle the boy (because he was barely out of teen hood as it was, not enough so to really be a ‘man’).

“And if they catch you?” Mike challenges for the millionth time, or so it feels. “Boom, cover blown. You’re supposed to be in scraps Mari, not floating around all free. It’d be suspicious as fuck if I turn up one day and you’re found the next. I’ll be fine. You know I’m always careful”

The puppet doesn’t seem soothed by his words, but he nods in understanding, knowing the other is right, even if he doesn’t want to outright admit it.

“I know. Be careful Michael, even if it’s only the first night. This is the first time you’ll be seeing them since-“

“I’ll be fine” Mike let’s out a heavy sigh, resisting the urge to rub at his temple. “I’ll be fine, seriously. I promise”

The short male scoops up his coffee, taking a swig of its dregs and instantly regretting it. It’s cold and bitter, too bitter even for him. Gross. He misses the shared look between the Puppet and Ennard, one of sheer worry for their human companion. The mug gets placed in the sink, to be washed later. “I’m going to get dressed. Might as well get an early start”

There’s a pause, and then: “I updated your uniform a bit. I hope you don’t “

There’s something almost sly in Marion’s tone, and Mike can’t help but send the other a suspicious glance as he lumbers past the two, heading towards the Purple pile on the sofa. He comes to a slow stop as he nears, eyes narrowing almost dangerously, his eyes transfixing on the worn and obviously second-hand hat placed on the seating. 

He can hear the sound of merry laughter behind him. His eye twitches.

He snatches the matching shirt and pants up, the clothing resting over his arm, pauses, then grabs the equally as purple hat by its visor and shoves it forcefully on top of his head, small brown plush bear ears and all.

He would be lying if he said he hated his roommates, but god does it come close sometimes. He already looks way younger than what he actually is, and this doesn’t make it better.

Jokes on Mari though, because Mike refuses to let the other win. He’s going to rock these damn cutesie ears to hell and back, embarrassment be damned.

(Or that’s what he tells himself as he shrugs into the purple nightmare with as much dignity as possible, hair still damp from his speedy shower.)

Marions gone when he does finally trudge back into the kitchen come dining room, but Ennards still lounging in place, nearing the end of his paper and slouched even further than before in the rickety old seat he’s claimed as his own. One eye glides up to look at him.

Ennard lets out a burst of static, reminiscent of a snicker. “C-Cute,” Is all the animatronic says. Mike exhales harshly, flipping the other off as he pleases.

“fuck you, asshat”

-

He rolls up into the large and busy car par of Freddy Fazbears pizza with five minutes to spare. There’s a lot of movement in the area, families heading out of the doors, kids screaming and laughing as they run around the place whilst their parents walk behind, chattering amongst one another. Mike careens into a free spot marked ‘staff’.

According to his boss; a tall woman with a consistent icy expression and greying hair, his shift starts2 hours before midnight, and lasts 8 hours all together. That being said, there are times he might be called in before his shift or asked to stay after as a part time Daytime Guard. It’s more money in the pot, not money is something Mike really has to worry about, and allows him ample time to do some snooping outside of the night shift.

He grabs his uniform hat from its position on the spare seat of his car, pausing to scowl once again at the brown plushie ears sticking out from the top, sewn in with a careful and experienced hand, if the neat and nearly invisible stitching is anything to go by, but decides not to complain. He’s spent several years dealing with Marion’s habit of freddafying as many items of Mike’s clothing as the black devil can get his fingers on, and god knows he has worse than a pair of bear ears stuck to his work hat.

(He thinks of the pair of underwear stashed at the bottom of his drawer, embroidered with a cute Foxy face smack dab in the middle of the right butt cheek and involuntarily shivers. Yeah, he has much worse.) 

The hat is slightly too big on his head, and it keeps slipping down and pushing his bangs into his eyes, but even after a moment or two of fiddling, he has no choice but to suck it up and deal with it. He’s got two minutes left to rush inside, and has the distinct feeling his new Manager will be less than impressed if he’s not there, on the dot.

It’s chilly outside, the wind nipping at his nose as slams and locks his car door and half-jogs across the parking lot, heading towards the worn building in front of him. A sense of nostalgia hits him like a brick as he glances up at the stuttering Neon lights highlighting Freddy and Co, followed closely by a shiver of deep set trepidation.

When he opens the glass doors. A wave of warmth hits him immediately, alongside the excited chatter of the remaining children loitering about, their parents packing up, getting ready to leave. The air smells like pizza, cake and moisture, a weird combination that has Mike resisting the urge to scrunch his nose up in disgust. In front of him, manning the door with a smile is a perky looking blonde whose features are vaguely similar to that of his boss, the short and petite female waving him over the moment she notices him. He’d met her the day before.

He tries to remember her name as he draws near, his hands fiddling with the edges of his too large work shirt. It began with a, that’s all he knows. She’s not wearing a name badge, so he can’t just glance at it quickly. Whatever, best to wing it and hope she doesn’t notice. His insides curdle from the nerves but he pushes it down, shooting the blonde an awkward smile in response to her own.

“Good morning!” It’s afternoon, but Mike doesn’t point this out. The blonde leans on the podium she’s stationed at, grey eyes wide and cheeks flushed as she looks him over. Her eyes linger on his hat, much to his embarrassment. “You’re just on time. You remember where Mc. Elliott’s office is, right?”

“Uh, yep” Ah yes, he’s truly the prime example of an articulate social butterfly. Funny how he’s comfortable as can be around a bunch of metal and plastic monsters, but real living breathing people? No thanks. “Just past the dining room and down the hall?”

She looks at him like he’s a new born deer on shaky legs, which, in all honesty, isn’t that far from the truth. “That would be it!...” She pauses, eyebrows lowering. “ Sorry if this sounds rude, you know, I actually wanted to ask you this yesterday but I didn’t get around to it” She pauses again, her face twitching back up into its smile, though it seems somewhat lacklustre this time around. “How old are you?”

Mike’s only some-what surprised at the question, resisting the urge to sigh. He’s well aware how young he looks. “Nineteen” He replies with a chuckle. Slowly starting to edge his way around her podium. She looks almost stricken at the news, before that too melts away into her cookie cutter smile. He feels like she’s staring into his soul, picking him to pieces as she looks at him. “Uh… thanks for the help, I’ll uh… see you around?”

She blinks, nodding her head and leaning further against her podium. “See you around, Mike!”

He leaves quickly, not stopping to glance around at the tired parents and excitable kids as he passes. He makes a beeline past the rows of tables, past the double doors of the kitchen and down the east hall. There are two sets of doors at the end; one of the doorways is open, a window next to it. That would be his workplace, the security office. He doesn’t see any doors attached to them, and it causes a small niggle off worry to creep up his spine. The other door, straight ahead, is plain wood with a work rota pinned to its surface.

He doesn’t even have to knock as he draws near, the door swinging open on its own and the towering figure of his boss emerging. She adjusts her pearlesque glasses perched on the tip of her nose, staring down at him with a stare just as intense as the day before, before motioning him wordlessly inside of her office. He moves behind her, closing the door as he goes and sparing a glance around the tidy office space.

“Take a seat, Mr. Schmidt” Ms Elliot’s voice is calm and firm, far more gentle than what her hard and icy composure would allude to. She motions her free hand towards the chair opposite her, taking her own swivel seat and tucking herself firmly underneath her worn oaken table.

Mike moves forward, taking the seat offered. Unlike the rest of the pizzeria, which looks like it’s seen better days, the office space is overly clean.

“Normally I wouldn’t call you in so early unless I talked with you beforehand about extra shift work, but there’s a lot of paperwork to go through before your first shift, and I wanted it done and dusted. Alongside that, it would be good to get you acquainted with the Staff, Restaurant, animatronics, and of course your duties.” She pauses, the female pulling out a small stack of paperwork and shuffling it to sit perfectly aligned. “This process is far more rushed than it normally would be. Your employment was a surprise for the store decided by those higher up than me in the company. I had no clue they were looking until yesterday”

Mike ignores the almost imploring look she sends him, as if asking with her eyes why ‘him’ of all people. It’s not like he can give her an answer. His mouth is sealed shut.

“It’s no worries. It was a bit of a rush for me as well to be honest” He replies, a small tight grin curling on his lips. Only a half truth, but not one she would notice. She stares at him a moment longer, either not finding what she was looking for in his expression, or not searching at all, and looks away, adjusting her glasses.

“Well Mike, can I call you Mike?” He nods, returning the small smile she shoots him. “Call me Avery in return then Mike.” Despite her outwardly icy appearance, the more he talks to her, the calmer he becomes. She seems nice, though appearances can be deceiving, and considering she worked at Freddy’s, you had to be careful. Mike was normally good at reading people, though, and so far nothing striking came to mind to cause him worry. “Most of the paperwork is legal jargon, it’s just something to skim through. You’ll need to pay attention more so to the last few pages as that deals with payment, alongside the Injury TOS on the last page.”

“Injury TOS?” He asks, though he already knows the answer. He wasn’t new to the underlying legal holdings of the Freddy franchise.

“Nothing to worry about” She waves him off. Her poker face is perfect, nothing to show any sort of discomfort. If Mike wasn’t aware of the mysterious missing night guards splattering the rumour mill surrounding this restaurant, he’d think nothing off it. “We don’t get many break ins, and when we do nothing normally comes out of it. It’s just to insure both ourselves and you”

Avery slides the papers across the desk towards him, and Mike takes them in hand. The female stands up, her heels clicking against the side of the chairs legs as she does.

“I’ll leave you here for now to read through everything. Make sure you sign all of the relevant spaces. I’ve got the end of staff meeting to sort out, but once that’s done and everyone’s sent home, I’ll come back and give you a quick tour. Sound good?”

“Sounds good to me” He replies, shooting her a look. She nods back in return, moving around the desk. Mike feels a bit like he’s been steamrolled over, the female fast paced and snappy, leaving no time for him to really reply. The sound of the door clicking closed behind him is as sudden as her appearance when he’d first come to the door.

Mike blinks, then let’s out a small weary sigh. The experience was jarring compared to his previous experiences. He slumps in the chair, picking a pen already stationed to the side of the desk up and setting his eyes on the span of words. He may enjoy reading, but legality was never his forte, not matter how much his father tried to convince him otherwise. He was already getting a headache from looking at the mas of words, and he takes a moment to rub his hand over his forehead, over the scars hidden under his fringe, before settling the paper on the desk, leaning forward and twirling the pen in his hand.

Time to get to work.

-

Fritz Smith saunters through the double doors of Freddy’s Pizzeria and instantly regrets it.

Amber is a usual sight to see, the long-haired blonde a full time worker at Freddy’s, and always a chipper and cheerful addition to his normally boring day. Normally she’d be waiting to greet him before his afternoon Animatronic check, accompanied with a large smile and a wave. He’s well aware he’s her favourite, out of the two technicians who frequent the joint. Jeremy’s too aggressive to be anyone’s favourite. Sucks to be him.

Today though, she’s pacing back and fourth, her normally tanned skin ashen and hands wringing nervously. He slows to a stop before her, shoving his hands in his pockets and trailing his gaze over the tears welling in her eyes. She looks two seconds away from bursting into hysterics, or having a full blown mental breakdown. Honestly, when working at Freddy’s, it could easily be both.

“Amber?” He calls. The female jerks, her head whipping up as she stares at him. Something heavy settles in his gut. He wonders if maybe Jeremy said something. The asshole had a habit of upsetting other’s without meaning too, and he wouldn’t be surprised if he’d pushed a nerve in the blonde while coming in for the night shift that had her in tears. Somehow, though, he knows it’s not that. “What’s up? You look like you’re about to cry” Never let it be said he’s one for subtly. He’s not.

“F-Fritz?” She stutters out, taking a step closer. Her hands shake as she rubs her reddened nose with the sleeve of her shirt.” Oh God, Fritz. H-He looks so young. I c-can’t keep doing this, I-”

“Amber, hey jesus calm the fuck down” He grabs her shoulder, steadying the female. She’s shaking under his hands. “Whose too young?”

Amber stares at him, before slowly shaking her head. “The Night guard” She whispers out, voice fearful. Fritz has to focus on his self-control, on fighting back the urge to punch something. “I-I didn’t know anything, I swear. Auntie didn’t even give a hint of hiring one, but yesterday he came in, and I thought it was just something forced on her, you know? Give him an interview, see how it goes” The blonde rushes out, one hand coming up to shakily grip one of his wrists. Fritz barely feels it, staring ahead of her, mind blank. “But he came back in today. And he’s so small, Fritz. He s-so small”

“We agreed me and Jeremy would switch out the night shifts” Fritz manages to hiss out, pulling back from the blonde. She doesn’t take offense from him flinching away, tucking her hands together and sucking in a deep breath.

“She said she’d see how it goes with the both of you”

“Well obviously a fucking day was plenty of time to wait” He hisses, running a hand through messy red hair. “The fuck, amber? The whole point of me and Jer taking the Nights was to avoid this shit”

“I know that!” She hisses back, the first hint of steel in her tone. She runs a hand through her hair, tangling the golden tresses. “I don’t know what’s going on, but… but you need to try, I don’t know, scare him away? Do something?”

Fritz twitches, pushing his hands back in his pockets to hide the way his nails dig and bleed into his palms. “Fuck me scaring him away, the moment Jeremy gets wind, he’ll be screaming up a storm. Speaking of Jeremy… where the fuck is he?”

“emergency hospital appointment” amber replies, mouth twisting in frustration.

Fritz’s eyes narrow. “How convenient for the night guard.” He huffs, looking fully back at Amber. It’s not to say that the female doesn’t get torn up inside each time they get a new ‘victim’ as Fritz likes to call it. She’s not a psychopath, and always seems on edge and upset over the ordeal, but he’d never seen her this frenzied. She’d said he looked young, maybe that was why? Most of the people they got going for the job whenever Avery had the guts to post the job up for grabs were at least in their mid-twenties, early thirties.

“I’ll do what I can Amber” He assures her, though somehow he knows its empty. “I swear to fucking god if this is about my sleep schedule…”

“I don’t think the decision came from Auntie” Amber mutters, seemingly calming down a bit, though her hands were still shaking somewhat. “She was acting weird all last night.”

“Well if it is her, I’m having words. No fucking way should she start feeling pity for either of us now, especially not Jeremy. Not only is he and asshole, he’s a veteran asshole.”

They fall into a brief pause of silence, Amber twisting her hands together, her eyebrows furrowed, and Fritz with his hands firmly clenched in his pockets, a frown on his face.

After a moment, Amber let’s out a deep breath. “I don’t know why I stay here” She whispers out, hushed, as if someone could overhear them, could do something about her lack of enthusiasm. Fritz grimaces.

“Welcome to Freddy Fazbears, Amb’. Once you join, the only way you leave is either traumatised or in a body bag.” The sad part about his words, something they’re both well aware of, their mutual understanding quickly shared through a single glance between the two, is that his words were terrifyingly accurate.

-

Avery returns about an hour and a half later, just as Mike finished up on the last page of the paperwork. It’d been lengthy, and annoying to read through; and he had read through it despite the headache that had formed from the blur of words half way through. The last page was the usual Freddy’s bullshit he’d had to go through when working down in Ennard’s lair. i.e: if you die, it’s no fault of our own, but with more flowery words and less death actually mentioned.

She looks high strung when she returns, her lips drawn into a thin line and her cheeks flushed. There’s anger in her gaze, mixed with guilt, and it’s completely foreign on her compared to the calm demeaner she’d displayed earlier. He wonders what caused the sudden change, but doesn’t point it out.

“All done” She asks, taking a small breath, as if to calm herself. Mike nods, watching her take the paperwork, painted nails tapping against the surface of the paper. She swiftly glances over it, leaving Mike sitting there awkwardly, foot tapping on the floor out of sheer anxiety. “Looks good to me, no missed spots”

Mike doesn’t let out a sigh of relief, but it’s close. He nearly jumps out of the chair when a hand is suddenly in his vision, the female looking down at him, a strained smile on her face.

“Welcome to the team, Mike. Let’s get you a quick tour, shall we? You’ve got about half an hour before the start of your shift”

Mike takes her hand, shaking it with a small smile of his own. “It’s been that long?” He asks, standing up from his seat and stretching his legs. His knees ache slightly from sitting down for so long. “Time sure does fly.”

The tight look eases off of Avery’s face ever so slightly, the female nodding.

“I apologise for being gone longer than I thought” Avery says to him as they leave the office, her heels clicking against the floor as they walk. Most of the lights are still on, though the hallway lights aren’t. The dining room is tidy and lacking in any life, tables neatly strewn out and paper hats laid out on top of the confetti decorated surfaces. “Something urgent came up and I had to step out for a moment”

“Uh, it’s no worries” He assures her, glancing around the room. On the large stage in the middle, the three Animatronics he’s so familiar yet so estranged too stand to attention, staring ahead. “I’d only just finished when you came back, so it was good timing.”

“That’s good then” She replies, glancing to the stage before turning on her heel to look at him. “Let’s get this through quickly. I’d rather be out on time and get you all sorted and ready to go. There’s two sections to your job here at night.” She tells him, her hands tucked together in front of her. “The first spans from ten to twelve. We like the night guard to stretch their legs, check over the place and look out for anything our day guards and cleaners may have missed. It’s nothing too strenuous, just doing rounds around the Pizzeria and ensuring everything is in tip top order.”

“Sounds pretty simple” He replies. Avery’s expression becomes somewhat pinched, and she doesn’t reply to him, instead motioning to the animatronics on the stage. Mike follows her lead, looking to the three of them.

He’d avoided giving them a real good look until this point, but there’s no escaping their presence any longer. Mike has both good and bad memories of this place, more bad than good but the tall Bunny Animatronic his eyes are drawn to first fall under the good category. Bonnie is the tallest of the three, mostly because of the twitching ears on his head. He looks to be in good condition, as if worked on recently. There’s no visible wear and tear on his frame, his exterior is clean, and consistent in the soft purple colour that covered the endo-skeleton. Chica is about the same, her feathers fluffy and not bedraggled in any way, shape or form. Her bib is clean, eyes shiny and the cupcake resting on her platter looks almost brand new.

Mike eyes linger back on bonnie. Out of the group of them, Bonnie had always been his favourite as a kid. He wonders idly if the animatronic remembers him; though he supposes that would depend on the level of sentience. Would they be like Marion? Like Ennard? Almost human like with their sentience? Or would they be more like the baby bibs, just robots following the orders of their leader.

Mike pulls his eyes away from Bonnie to look at the final member of ‘the gang’ up on the stage. Surprisingly, the sense of dread that hits him at the sight of Freddy Fazbear is far more contained than he thought it would be. Out of the three of them, it’s clear Freddy has had the most love and attention, though not overly so. He can’t spot a single imperfection on the animatronics body. The brown of his fur is darker than what Mike remembers; more of a deep rich mahogany. It’s somewhat soothing to Mike’s mind, helps him associate the bear animatronic less and less with the colour gold.

“Your main job is to look over the animatronics. They’re the face of this establishment and their safety is our priority.” She continues, eyeing the three of them. “The second half of your shift should bring you back into the security office by twelve, where you’ll spend the rest of the night. From then on it’s the normal gig, keep an eye on the camera, check for anything out of the ordinary, any signs of break ins, anything like that”

“Has anyone ever broken in before?” Mike asks, genuinely curious. He doesn’t want to know what happened to the poor sods if they did.

“Oh, all the time. Who wouldn’t want to break into such a place as this” A voice drawls. Mike jumps slightly, head shooting to look towards the voice. A male is moving out of the room labelled parts and services. He’s dressed in a leather jacket, dark shirt, ripped jeans and combat boots. There’s a rag in his hand that’s being carefully covered in oil as the male wipes his hands off. Mike hadn’t even noticed him there, despite the fact he was right next to the stage.

Next to him, Avery let’s out a long sigh. “Ignore Fritz” She says, shooting the red head a sharp glare. “We haven’t had a break in at this location, no.” She tells him. “But you can never be too safe.” She pauses, eyes narrowing at ‘Fritz’” This is one of our two technicians, though I was under the impression he’d headed home by now.”

“And miss spending some time with my favourite people” Fritz motions lazily to the Animatronics, the three of them staring ahead, eyes dead. “Nah, thought I’d come see the newbie. Names Fritz Smith, though Avy’s already given that away. You go by Mike right? Or Michael? Maccaroni?”

Mike ignores Avery’s tut of annoyance next to him, smirking fully at the male before him. Fritz seems pretty okay, his demeanour and jabbing sarcasm reminding him of Ennard. “I prefer Egg’s, if you don’t mind” He chuckles out.

“Eggs?” Fritz full out grins at him, moving forward to settle close to the two. “Well Sir Eggs, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” He dips his head as if bowing towards Mike, before looking at Avery and her less than impressed stare. “Want me to give him the run around in the office Avy?”

“How many times have I told you not to call me that?” She asks primly, raising a brow. Fritz blinks innocently back at her, though with his pierced face and punk attire it falls short. “I get a feeling even if I tell you no, you’ll hang around anyway” She says, brushing a greying strand away from her sharp cheekbones. “If you don’t mind, Mike, I’ll leave the rest of the tour to Fritz”

“I don’t mind at all” He replies, shrugging his shoulders.

“Good then.” She glances at her watch, the accessory expensive, if Mike’s limited knowledge of watches is anything to go by. “Behave” She points briefly at Fritz. “And take everything he says with a pinch of salt, Mike. He’s a troublemaker” Her voice warms the more she talks to the technician. Despite the smile on her face, though, there’s a strange tense air between the two. Mike thinks nothing off it. He’s a stranger in the situation, and he’s not really that good at reading people.

Maybe he’s imagining it.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Mike” Avery says, slipping her phone out of her pocket. She gives him one last look, her brows furrowing for a moment, and then she’s gone, her heels clicking loudly against the ominous silence. The door opens, a car unlocks, the wind blows harshly outside, storm clouds brewing in the distance, and then the door closes with a click, leaving Mike, Fritz and the animatronics on their own.

“Welp, I wanna be out here by tenish, so let’s get you all familiar with your office” Fritz claps his hands, motioning mike to follow him as he heads towards the West hallway. Mike shoots one last glance to the three on the stage, before following after.

“If you last longer than a week” As if that isn’t ominous. “Avy will start bringing you in for openings and closes, so there’s no point until then for me to give you a true in and out of the place. Also? Don’t got time.” They pass a door clearly labelled ‘supply closet’. “Cleaning supplies and shit is in here. Try not to move anything around too much, Bonnie gets real fucking pissy when someone mucks it up”

Huh.

“He gets… pissy?” Mike asks, slightly amused at the thought.

“Ya, total diva; and I’m the one who has to deal with his backstage bitching.” Fritz snorts, turning a sharp left towards an open door. Just like the door he’d seen earlier, this one too leads into the small cramped office space that Mike had managed to gleam a glance off earlier that day. 

As stated, the office was small, and not in a homely way, there’s a row of lockers along the back, most of them named. One is covered in pastel stickers, another covered in black writing. Opposite the yellow lockers is a desk covered in several monitors, a fan and a cutsie cupcake with wide blue eyes that looked like a copy of Chica’s.

Mike moves in after Fritz, the red head leaning casually against the lockers and crossing his arms over his chest.

“Alright newbie, here’s the run down. Get your ass in the office by twelve, not at twelve, or just after. Twelve on the dot. They monitor this shit, you know?” Fritz says, shrugging his shoulders in a ’what can you do’ manner. He’s a good liar, Mike notes. If he didn’t have the knowledge he already did, he’d have believed the other hook, line and sinker. “That Monitor behind you?”

Mike glances to the aforementioned monitor, laying on the rickety office chair. Mike carefully picks it up at Fritz’s slightly impatient beckoning.

“There’s eleven camera’s running around this joint, during the night you keep an eye on the place. It’s an interactive screen, though it can be a bit buggy, so you’ll have to tap hard, or twice on times. Pro tip? Check it, but not too often. It runs out of power pretty fucking quick, so conserve your energy.”

“So, I just chill in here from twelve to six, pretty much?” Mike asks, somewhat sceptical. Fritz nods his head, looking serious under the flickering lights. Mike blinks, his mind drawing comparisons between the freckled adult in front of him, and a hazy imagine of someone from long ago. Someone long gone.

He pushes it aside, alongside the urge to laugh (or cry).

“Pretty much, yep” Fritz pops the ‘p’, glancing briefly at his watch. “Only other thing you gotta know about is the doors. You ever find yourself in a pickle? There’s these bad boys to help.”

He slaps a hand against the side of the door frame.

“Top button is lights, bottom is the doors. If you think someone has… broken in, you can use the lights to check. Notice something strange? Slam the doors down.” Fritz grimaces, though Mike doesn’t know what at. For Fritz, the words are like ash in his mouth, deceitful; lies. “Be careful though, it runs on the same power as the monitor, so keep them down for two long, or use both at once and the power will drain like crazy.”

“This seems rather… extreme” Mike notes, looking down to the monitor again. He felt a sense of déjà vu when glimpsing around into the office, but it’s only now, with the reminder of the heavy set of doors, that it hits him to the full. The room is eerily similar, not that he thinks on it, to the one he’d found back at this old joint. A stack of dead TVs lining the desk, a gloomy atmosphere and cameras to allow him to watch his antagonist draw closer. He wonders, rather hysterically, if the TVs will come online and show him another dark spot from his past.

A foxy mask, maybe? A Golden Freddy suit?

“Nah not really” Fritz replies, and Mike turns to look back up at him. “Just a safety precaution, you know? They’ll hold up against pretty much most things that may try to get in” He looks almost pensive as he says this, staring into Mike’s soul. “Not that people trying to get in really happens-” People, not things, a lie by omission. “-but you know…”

“Better to be safe than sorry?”

“Ding ding, we have a winner”

“Sounds simple enough” Mike says, fiddling with the leather casing to the Monitor. Fritz stares at him for a moment, almost quizzical with his look. Mike thinks that maybe he’s about to ask something, but instead he looks away, pushing away from the door and shoving his hands deep in his pockets.

“Simple indeed. Welp, I’ma hall my ass outta dodge. Leave you to have your alone time with the metal annoyances”

“Its ten already?” Mike asks, eyebrows raising. He feels like it’s been only a few minutes, or maybe it’s the slight tingle of nerves slowly his brain. Either or.

“Couple minutes past, so I’ma scoot.” The red head steps out into he hallway, peering to the side before looking back in. “Door will lock behind me. Keep what I said in mind and don’t be a slacker” He tries somewhat of a smirk, but it falls short. Mike simply stands there, eyes narrowed.

“Got it. I’ll see you in the morning?” He doesn’t know if he actually will, but it seems the polite thing to say.

“Nah Newbie, you’ll be dealing with Jeremy in the morning… probably.” Fritz snickers, any apprehension on his face wiped clean. He looks amused at the thought of his suffering, whatever the hell he’s supposed to be suffering too. “Good luck”

Fritz practically cackles as he walks away, leaving Mike on his own. He doesn’t know what he was referring to with that good luck. The job? This elusive Jeremy? Either way Mike sniffs in annoyance and turns around, carefully placing the Monitor back down on the chair. The doors lock audibly half way across the Pizzeria and Mike’s eyes flutter closed.

He takes a deep breath, already feeling the buzz of adrenaline in his veins, and opens his eyes, preparing himself for his first night.

His eyes flash purple, or maybe it’s a trick of the light.

Behind him, a poster on the wall appears, then flickers away.

It’s covered in the colour gold.


	2. Part One, Chapter 2: Game Start

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo Yo. Chapter two is a go. This is a more shorter than the last. Next chapter should be much longer ^^  
Atm I'm trying to balance world building with action, so I hope it's not going to slow or too fast. I wanted to just focus on the night with this one, so short and sweet was my goal.   
After this chapter my uploading will most likely slow a touch. I won't be uploading back to back like this again for a long while. Hopefully my upload time will be between 1 to 2 weeks between each chapter. (Or well, that's my goal!)
> 
> This Chapter hasn't been Beta tested. I've only read through it briefly. I'll be going back and re-reading it at home when I have the time.   
Hope you enjoy!

The restaurant is undeniably creepy at night, there is no denying as such. Shadow’s seeming to loom much further than one would expect, so dark that if there was something hiding inside, waiting. Well… you wouldn’t know until it had you.

For Mike, it was almost comforting. He moves through the darkness with a surety, his steps careful but confident. The dining area is lit, but not by much. One single show light blare, illuminating the Animatronics and casting shadows over their faces. They stare blankly ahead.

It’s weird, really fucking weird, Mike notes as he comes to a stop in front of them, watching them with a tilt of his head. Even back down at the sister location, the Animatronics had been awake, moving. Ballora would be spinning around in her room. Sometimes she’d be in the mood to talk, often not. Foxy; fun time foxy and not the red and original version, could talk his ear off if given half a chance, and then attack him a second later. She’d liked him, but at the end of the day, just as the others, they had a job they’d assigned themselves.

Baby never moved, or if she did, he never saw. There was no light in her gallery. Ever.

He has two hours to spare, and he wonders what exactly he should do. He doesn’t want to start snooping around this early on, lest someone be reviewing the tapes in the beginning. His torch, a small thing that attaches to his keychain and is now dangling from his belt loop, flashes around to the parts and services door to the left, then further to the left towards the closed off purple curtains.

Mike stares for a moment, knowing exactly what stood behind, if they hadn’t scrapped him. Something like morbid curiosity worms its way into his brain, and he moves closer, weaving slowly between the tables. The stage is tall and looming. It fills him with a fear that the trio to his right just don’t bring. 

His hand is shaking when he lifts it to the curtain and he curses himself for being such a scaredy-cat, a wimp. He grasps the fabric, tension drawing into his frame, and yanks the curtain to the side.

His heart hammers, he half expects the fox face to jump at him, yell at him, laugh at his tears.

But foxy is still. He’s in disrepair, broken and worn and torn. His jaw hangs loosely, single eye staring ahead.

Mike’s still shaking, scrutinising the Animatronic. He lets out a small breath, tearing his eyes away from the red fur and letting the curtain fall closed.

“Chasing nightmares, Mike” He mutters to himself, a reminder. He turns away, ignoring the urge to run, hide, and instead keeping moving, up the hallway, back down the other.

Two hours is a long time to do fuck all, and that’s all he really does. He inspects the kitchen, spacey with twin doors that push both ways, and a locked freezer at the back. The Bathrooms are small but clean, sitting next to a long space of wall with boxes in front and pictures drawn by children stuck on.

He makes sure to keep an eye on the clock, and on the Animatronics as he goes around and around in circles. They don’t move, not a peep. Their eyes don’t wander, they don’t twitch or stutter. They’re perfectly still.

It’s suspicious as hell, or maybe Mike is used to something more sentient. Are they sentient? His first night is to find that out, he decides as he makes his final round, moving towards the office. Marion had been sure of it, the creature having worked with them before, but Mike is sceptical. If they are sentient, they’re very good at acting. It reminds him of Baby.

He shivers at the thought, collapsing into the slowly spinning chair in the middle of the office, gripping the side’s as the spin becomes a bit too overzealous, nearly causing him to tip over.

The tablet from earlier is still sitting in its place, untouched. He pulls it into his lap and looks down at it. It’s sitting on the camera facing ‘the crew’ when he starts it up. They’re motionless, staring blankly ahead at the wall in front of them still. He’s got a minute to go before midnight. The witching hours, he thinks with a tinge of amusement,

He’s not naïve to the reason he’d been told to stay in at twelve onwards. He has a feeling that just like the sister location animatronics, hostility brews between the hours of twelve to six, like clockwork.

It feels like the calm before the storm, is all that he can think as he idly spins in his chair back and forth, feet catching him before he turns too far.

The building is strangely silent. There isn’t the sound of machines humming in the background, or the small scampering feet of the minnirina’s on the floor. His breath seems too loud in the quiet dim his heartbeat too heavy. The clock on the tablet pings midnight.

“Game start” Mike mutters, glancing down at the camera’s before flicking the monitor off. As if someone had flipped a switch, the moment the clock had hit midnight, a strange buzz of tension filled the air. It had the hairs on his arms standing on edge.

He sits up straighter in the seat, running a finger down the side of the monitor before pushing it to life, flicking the camera from the stage to foxy’s cove. He’s about to switch back, deciding to keep it on the main stage for now, when-

**Brrr Brrr**

Mike practically jumps out of his skin, the hand not holding the monitor slamming down on the table, more out of surprise than anything. He curses at the sting on his palm from the contact, hissing in annoyance and glancing warily at the phone to his left. He doesn’t even get a chance to pick up the phone, as a moment after the sudden ringing a voice starts speaking.

“_Hello, hello?” _says the voice through the tinny speaker, a soft tone with an underlying Texan twang to the lilt of the masculine tone. Mike squints at the phone. It’s oddly familiar, though he can’t put his finger on how so.

“Hello?” Mike calls, hesitantly waiting for a response; though it’s futile, the next line confirms this.

_“Uh, I wanted to record a message for you, to help you get settled in on your first night!”_ The voice continues. Mike huffs, glancing down at his cameras, then to the right and left door, listening carefully. _“Um, I actually worked in that office not too long ago, I’m finish up my last week now, as a matter of fact, so I thought I’d record this for whoever came next…” _There’s an awkward chuckle on the other end of the phone. _“I know how overwhelming it can be, so I’m here to tell you…”_

The male in the recording pauses and there’s another awkward chuckle, a small parched cough. _“There’s nothing to worry about!”_ He finishes, and Mike is less than impressed. Whoever this is, they’re shit at lying. There is nothing whatsoever in the man’s voice that comes off as even vaguely convincing. _“You’ll do fine! Let’s get you focused and through your first week here, okay? It’ll be a breeze, promise ya”_

Mike let’s out a small snort though is left completely unamused. If his brother saw him now, he’d be impressed with the glare he shoots the phone. “Yeah, breeze, sure. Whatever you say dude” He says, glancing back down to the Monitor and immediately hissing out in frustration.

_“Uhh, let’s see. First there’s an introductory greeting from the company I’m supposed to read. It’s kinda a legal thing an’ all, you know? Won’t take a minute”_

Bonnie is staring straight at the camera from his position on the stage. Unlike the two to his left, he’s twitching slightly, one ear swivelling ever so slightly, head tilting as red eyes stare death into his soul.

Bonnie is scary, staring like that, twitching as if two seconds from malfunctioning, but it’s nothing compared to Ennard, who sways and grins and chuckles, who creeps through vents and is a mess, a monster. Mike’s also not bleeding out and losing consciousness by the second so that also helps his heart rate stay even. He switches the monitor off for a moment, turning back into the phone recording.

_“Welcome to Freddy Fazbear’s Pizzeria! A magical place for kids and grown-ups alike, where fantasy and fun come to life”_

“God, shut the fuck up” He snaps, pushing his glasses higher up on the bridge of his nose and in doing so nearly losing the Monitor to the tiles below. Several second are spent scrambling and nearly falling off the chair to save the descending monitor. Getting charged for property damage would not be a good way to start this job. He misses out on some of ‘phone guys’ speech, not that he really cares.

_“-tainment is not responsible for the damage to property or person.”_ The voice continues, and Mike throws it a glare, righting himself in his seat. _“Upon discovering that damage or death has occurred, a missing report will be filed within 90 days, or as soon as the property and premises have been thoroughly cleaned and bleached, and the carpets have been replaced.”_

Monitor back on. Mike half-heartedly listens to the voice. He feels somewhat nauseous at the blatant disregard for human life, yet he’s not all that surprised.

_“Blah blah blah”_ He’s still talking. Bonnie is still in place. Just end him now, honestly.

The time on his watch, at a quick glance, shows 12:06am.

_“Now, I know that might sound bad, trust me I get it, but there’s nothing to worry about. Uh… the animatronic characters here do get a bit quirky at night, but do I blame them? No… No, I don’t.”_ For once, the nervous disposition of the guy on the phone shits to something resolute. _“If I were forced to sing those same stupid songs for twenty years I’d probably be a bit irritable at night too!”_

Mike flicks through some other cameras, pays pirate cove and the kitchen; where the camera is either broken or blocked by something, towards the bathrooms. “So, remember. These characters hold a special place in the hearts of children, and we should show them a little respect, alright? Good”

Flicking back to the main dining hall has Mike narrowing his eyes, first at the empty spot on the stage, then at the Bunny frozen in place, standing between two of the tables. He stares up at the camera, at Mike. There’s something menacing in the way he stands there, swaying from side to side ever so slightly, ears twitching, listening. Mike has a feeling that, just like Bon Bon, the small little plastic shit head sitting on the end of Funtime Freddy’s arm, this Bonnie has acute hearing that spans the pizzeria.

_“So just be aware. The characters do tend to wander a bit”_

“No shit, really?” Mike snorts, raising a brow and closing off the Monitor briefly, rubbing at his temple. This guys giving him a damn headache.

_“They’re left in some kind of free roaming mode at night, something about their servos locking up if they get turned off for too long. They used to be allowed to walk around during the day too, but then there was the bite of ’87. Yeah, i-it’s amazing that the human body can live without a frontal lobe, you know?”_

Well damn, for a moment he’d thought he’d been referring to… but no. He knew of the incident the other talked about, though only vaguely. He’d been about 14 at the time.

_“Now, concerning your safety, the only real risk to you as a night watchman here, if any, is the fact that these characters… uh… if they happen to see you after hours, they probably won’t recognise you as a person”_

‘Bullshit’ The thought is so violent it stops Mike in his tracks; he agrees with it thought. Even as a child, the animatronics had no issue understanding person from endoskeleton. Who were they fooling with this bullshit? Was this just some sick way for them to justify or explain their complacency to the rumours of this place?

_“They’ll most likely see you as a metal endo without it’s costume on. Since that’s against the rules here at Freddy’s, they’ll probably try to… forcefully stuff you inside a Freddy Fazbear suit?”_

“So kill me” Mike deadpans, booting up the monitor and glancing at it again. Bonnie is gone now, though Mike isn’t too alarmed. He searches methodically through the cameras, glancing briefly over the bathrooms, the east hall, the supply closet, and finally…

There.

Mike leans back slightly. The bunny is standing still, next to a table filled with various robotic parts and a leather jacket, most likely left by a worker. He’s staring up at the camera… again.

“Don’t move your ass” Mike scolds, pointing a finger at the screen as if the other can actually see him. He has no doubt he can hear him.

_“I know it sounds bad, and it is really, as the suits are unfortunately filled with cross beams, wires and animatronics devices, especially around the facial region. You can imagine having your head forcefully stuffed inside one of those could cause a bit of discomfort…”_

“And death” Mike snarks, rolling his eyes.

_“-and death”_ The voice continues, as if agreeing with him. _“The only parts of your that would likely see the light of day would be your eyeballs and teeth when they pop out of the front of the mask!”_ A pause, Mike let’s out a shaky breath, in disbelief. _“Heh… Y-Yeah, they don’t tell you these things when you sign up. But Hey! First night should be a breeze, don’t sweat! I’ll chat with you tomorrow… uh, check your camera’s and remember to close the doors only if necessary. Gotta conserve power. Alright, good night!”_

The line goes dead, the thin monotone beep of the phone filling the air before falling silent. Mike stares, unimpressed and somewhat disgusted.

What the actual fuck was that? Why is he even surprised at this point? Mike let’s out a groan, glancing to the left and right. What the fuck ever, at least he got something interesting out of that. It seems that, just like with Ennard hovel of an ex-home, the nights get increasingly harder, before ‘resetting’ back into a calmer state. Bonnie will hopefully be the only one active, though Mike will keep an eye out.

Speaking of Bonnie, from his left, Mike can hear the slowly shuffling thuds of something moving towards him. Calmly, he checks the cameras to the west hall, confirming his thoughts. Bonnie freezes in place the moment the camera’s turn on, but he’s not quick enough for Mike to miss the jerk of his foot moving forward and the twitch of his body. He falls still, staring at the camera.

“Didn’t I tell you to stay still?” Mike asks, amused. He shakes his head, a small smile on his lips. “Silly Bunny”

He can’t help the affection in his tone. He’d been one hundred percent honest when he said the bunny was his favourite.

Bonnie’s ears twitch and his head tilts, a physical reaction to his words. His eyes, as red as they come, are staring still into the camera with an intensity that would make most men mildly uncomfortable. The bunny seems to be deciding something, because he lurches back into movement a moment later, not seemingly caring that the cameras are on him.

Mike checks his right briefly before scooting closer to the left, finger hovering over the button. He watches Bonnie move into place by the window, coming to a stop, standing there in silence.

Up close, the look in his eyes is something far more than intense; it’s almost vitriol and it sends a shiver down Mike’s spine. If there was any doubt about sentience, it’s swept out the window. Despite being orbs of plastic, there is something alive in those eyes. The way they twitch, glance towards the open door then back into his own. The way his fingers shift and eyelids lower slightly.

He’s also at least half a body taller than Mike, if not more.

He could snap Mike in half with one giant metal hand.

Mike watches Bonnie and Bonnie watches Mike. Red into blue stares. Mikes hand twitches around the Monitor. He resists the urge to look behind him, not liking his back being so exposed.

As if aware of his brief change in train of thought, Bonnie lurches to the side with a grace and speed he hadn’t shown when walking up to the door. His body, large and cumbersome, shouldn’t move like that.

Yet it does.

Two things happen next, and honestly Mike isn’t sure how he’d gotten off so easy, looking back.

One; Mike slams his finger down on the red button, the doors closing with a resolute thud and blocking off the image of Bonnie’s large hand reaching for him.

Two; Chica’s shoulder screeches against the window on his right, causing Mike to whip around, practically falling out of his chair as he scrambles to move to the button.

Chica is looming. A shadow in the door. The chair tips in his rush to reach the button. He hits his shoulder hard on the wall, fist slamming down on the button. Chica disappears behind metal, his shoulder aches and his heart beats in his throat, fast enough that his mouth tastes of iron and his breath and heavy.

He’d lost his glasses somewhere along the ride.

Everything is a messy blur, his shoulder _really_ fucking hurts. It takes several attempts to pick himself up from the floor, having to pause to gulp in a large breath.

His breath turns into laughter, somewhat hysterical laughter it may be. He’s half way terrified and ecstatic.

Ennard often called him an adrenaline junky.

He’s not overly wrong. Something isn’t screwed right in Mike’s head, hasn’t been for a long while.

_‘Will this be the day you_ _die?’_ Is a mantra in his head, an old familiar friend. It echoes in him, a threat; a challenge.

_‘Will this be the day you die, Mike?’_

_‘Fuck no’ _He replies, fumbling around for his glasses and pulling them onto his face. One metal arm is slightly bent, but it’s an easy fix. He hauls himself up, resolute and grinning from ear to ear. His seat is righted, and he sits down in it. There’s nothing robotic in his movements. He’s languid, in his element. He carefully raises the screen, double checking both animatronics’ still aren’t there.

They’re not, now standing back on the stage again, empty husks playing pretend.

The doors open, Mike’s finger sore but nothing an icepack when he gets home won’t fix.

Mike let’s out a slow steady breath, the feral grin on his face still not falling. He turns the Monitor off briefly; the power sitting at 87%.

How long had Chica been standing there? When had she even moved from her spot?

He’d made a rookie mistake, had focused too much on Bonnie that he’d allowed her to sneak up on him. If Charlie were here right now, she’d slap him over the head. Ennard would just mock him.

He wouldn’t make the same mistake again. His life depended on it.

Mike flicks the camera’s back on, flicking over to the stage, the pirate cove, then back off again.

The darkness to either side of him is looming and cold. He doesn’t investigate it’s swirling depths, instead looking to the watch on his wrist. It’s 12:43, somehow. Mike had spent way too long watching Bonnie on and off, too long allowing Chica to sneak up in him.

The next half an hour pass, uneventful. Only Bonnie really moves, and he doesn’t come anywhere near the security booth. He seems to prefer the backstage and supply closet; Mike makes note, remembers, watches. Bonnie has a pattern and Mike learns.

Chica doesn’t budge, though there’s one instance where her head twitches to the side, towards Bonnie when the bunny is standing in the dining room. The Bunny twitches, jerking his head to look back. Freddy doesn’t make a peep. He doesn’t move, doesn’t twitch or shuffle.

Mike sits in silence, the Monitor in his hand and cupcake on his desk his only companions.

-

_“D-Did you see?” _Quiet, gentle, a voice so low, that only those with extraordinary hearing could hear.

Robotics whir, red eyes glancing. _“I saw.”_

**_“Familiar?”_**Another voice rumbles.

_“Familiar” _The second voice confirms. The first pipes up, decidedly female.

_“He’s purple. Stained with purple; and fast. He hasn’t made the same mistake twice, he’s on edge.”_

_“They’re all stained purple” _The second voice drawls._ “But this one’s drenched where the others were splattered.”_

_“Could it be-?”_

** _“Hush now. He’s watching”_ **

A glance from red, a tilt of the head. The Camera’s light blinks once, twice, then disappears.

**“Be vigilant”**

A curtain shuffles. A rumbling growl sounding out in response from the purple starry curtains to the right. Purple and yellow share a look, then turn away.

-

Mike spends the next handful of hours bored out of his mind. After the first fiasco with the double team, the night has been practically snooze worthy, which in all honesty isn’t a bad thing. He’s starting to feel tired, sluggish. He shouldn’t have gone to sleep so early the night before, an idiot move on his part.

Chica’s passed him once, but has mainly kept on stage or in the kitchen, rummaging around and making a ruckus. Bonnie had simply lingered in the hallway for a while, before backing off.

One becomes two, which ebbs into three; four and finally, five o’clock. Mike spends half the time spinning in his chair, keeping an ear out, and checking the Monitor with a quick flash, turning it on, checking the cove and stage, or any relevant camera if necessary, then switching it back off. His power chugs merrily, and by 5:30 he’s sitting at a steady 34%.

He checks on the stage again, crossing his legs and leaning closer to the screen. Bonnie is gone, which is normal enough; what’s strange is Chica is staring. She’s not looking at the camera’s, or straight ahead, but instead to the side, to the cove. Mike stops, blinks, switches to the cove. Nothing is amiss. The curtains are closed.

He watches for a moment, before flicking the camera’s away, finding Bonnie.

He’s in the parts and services room, staring at the lather jacket on the table. Mike tilts his head, watching him.

“What are you up to?” He asks gently after several moments of staring. Bonnie’s ears flick, before rotating towards the door.

He doesn’t reply, of course. Mike didn’t expect him too. He flicks the camera back to the stage, to the cove, then back to Bonnie. He’s only got twenty minutes left now.

Bonnie stands like that for another five minutes, ears cocked and eyes staring at the jacket, before he jerks into movement. His had turns fully towards the door, the plates over his eyes lowering, narrowing. It’s like e’s listening out for something, except there’s nothing to hear.

Mike frowns, the hairs on the back of his neck raising. Unlike the easy going atmosphere that had permeated the air beforehand, something shifts.

_‘Freddy?’_ His mind screams, confused. He flicks to the stage, blinking. Freddy’s moved, sure, but not much. His eyes have moved, looking in the same direction as Chica.

Towards the cove.

Mike freezes, and for the second time that night something breaks a bit inside of him, something screams in fear, wails begs. He pushes it away.

The button for the cove is on the left side of the dreary screen. Mike taps it. It doesn’t work. He frowns, taps it again.

The screen comes to life.

Mike freezes, fully freezes, then let’s out a shaky breath.

He’d hoped that maybe, just maybe, he’d get lucky.

He was wrong.

The purple curtain around the cove are pushed open, and the inhabitant is leaning. It’s obvious that Foxy has had little to no repairs done compared to the others. His feet are in tatters, nothing more than bare endoskeleton legs, and he’s covered in holes. He’s staring up at the camera, and if Mike thought that Bonnie, standing by his window, gave off an aura of hatred, this was nothing compare to the murder in that single eye.

The fox looked like he wanted to tear Mike to pieces. He wouldn’t be surprised if this were true.

It’s a Mexican standoff. Mike clutches the tablet, slowly nudging his chair closer to the door. Foxy stares at him, crouched low. His hook clicks on the floor; like the bloody velociraptors from Jurassic park. Taunting, and dangerous. It’s sharp, looks like it could split him open. _Scoop_ him from inside to out.

Foxy’ head twitches, Mike doesn’t blink.

The pirates one good eye glances to the side, to the right. Towards the door. Mike grits his teeth.

He’s not scared, not of the sharp teeth and pirate façade. He refuses to be.

A blink is all it takes. One moment Foxy is still, watching, waiting. _Blink_. The next he’s gone.

“Fuck No!” Mike hisses. Where the others are quiet, Foxy is _loud_. He thuds down the corridor, hissing and seething. Mike should close the door.

He should close it.

_He should close it._

The plastic creaks under his fingers. _Don’t get me, don’t get me. Go away_. Mike forces himself into movement.

Forces himself not to panic.

For the second time that day, his hand forces into the buttons by the door. He’s sloppy, the lights blaring to life by accident.

It illuminated the teeth, Mike thinks, rather hysterically. It’s like the world has suddenly gone into slow motion. He can see the Animatronic there, in front of him. See the doors slam shut on a metal hook that’s halfway into the room, getting stuck at the very bottom.

His mind perceives different. For a brief moment, it’s not a metal creature jumping for the door, landing against its closed surface with a thud, letting out a angered shriek, it’s human. The Fox face Is plastic, taunting. The shrieks mocking laughter and the methodical thud against a wooden bedroom door, not metal.

Mike pushes away from his chair, away from the jarring and stuttering door as it struggles to close on the hook. He backs up, back hits the wall behind him. Vaguely, he’s aware of the button behind him. He clicks it, letting the doors for the east corridor slam close.

“Get fucked” He hisses, clenching shaking hands. He’s not scared. _He’s not scared_. “Go the _fuck_ away.”

The screeching becomes worse. The hook twists, turns. Metal on metal shrieking in his ear, loud, painful. Mike’s shaking hands slam to his ears, more out of reflex. The hook draws out from under the door. It slams closed fully and for a moment there’s silence.

And then the _banging_ starts for real. The door visibly thuds, over and over.

And over.

_And over._

_‘He’s trying to get in’ _His mind supplies. The shriek of the hook striking the door causes him to flinch.

It happens again. His shoulders jerk up as he hunches over.

_‘Why won’t he leave me alone?’_

He’s in the security booth, curled into the corner, as far from the jolting door as he can get.

_He’s in his room and the jeering laughter never stops. He’s locked in. He wants Dad. **Where’s Dad?**_

The banging has stopped.

Mike jerks, as if struck, eyes opening, and when the hell had he closed them?

His brain is fuzzy, and he feels like an idiot. His tongue feels numb and _he feels like a fucking idiot._

There’s an echo in his head. The door bangs. It doesn’t bang. Foxy is there, but he’s not. It’s silent, but oh so _fucking loud_.

He breathes.

He’d thought he’d been prepared for Freddy’s. He sure as hell hadn’t been prepared for the hellion fox. Mike’s breath is stuttered but comes out with no issue. He focuses on just breathing, throwing his glasses to the floor, pressing his palms against his eyes.

His head hurts. It throbs. _And in the back of his mind, the banging never stops. _

The clock ticks. Mike manages to push himself to his feet, get to his chair, sit down. His glasses are on the floor somewhere. He doesn’t care.

The tablet is fine, laying on the table, unharmed.

It flashes on, gripped between pale shaking hands.

Its display reads 5:52am; 23%.

-

_“Slippery one, that one” Voice low, a gravelly growl. Eye plates shift, narrowing. Blue eyes stare to the side, unimpressed._

** _“You broke the rules”_ **

_“…”_

There’s silence, and then the sound of bells chiming through the Pizzeria. Purple to the right, settling back on stage. There’s a thud far off, a small yelp of surprise.

** _“I’ll ignore it this one time. Don’t do it again”_ **

_“They be right; ‘es drenched, that one.”_

A hum, contemplative.

** _“And Familiar?”_ **

_“Aye. I don’t like it. Nearly had the scrapper, but he’s nimble. Bit o’ a coward though” _

** _“I see.”_ **

Silence falls once again.

_And in the back room, something gold carefully fold the leather jacket over one of the chairs in the room, patting it affectionately. _

_It’s there in one moment, gone the next._

_A Phantom. _


	3. Part One, Chapter three: In dreams we sleep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tw: None (Def gonna start putting this here from now on)
> 
> Hello Hello, resident computer girl here lol  
I need mattpat to stop solving fnaf in the completely opposite direction to the direction im taking this fic .-.  
I just want to clarify again, whilst i'm heavily referencing lore, i'm also changing a lot of it. It's more of an interpretation with my own twists, and doesn't fully follow the lore (obviously)  
That being said I do love the lore of fnaf and can't wait for another video from Matt. Fun times!
> 
> I hope you like this chapter. I don't want to rush this fic, but I don' want it to be a snail either. Things should pick up a bit from next chapter.  
Let me know what you think in the comments! I appreciate any and all criticism or feedback! <3
> 
> Also, blatant Twitter plug!  
https://twitter.com/BuniDevil  
Come check me out, I post art and will be putting some teaser's and art for this fic on my twitter in the next few weeks!

Mike jolts to life at the distant sound of the door unlocking in the background. He let’s out a slow breath, bringing himself back to the present.

The doors are open now, the male opening them once his nerves had settled and Foxy had retreated. The rest of the night, and by that he means the 8 minutes he’d had left until the clock had chimed throughout the pizzeria and caused him to nearly drop the monitor, was uneventful.

Footsteps make their way to the security booth. Fritz had mentioned the day before it’d be someone else coming in early, and it was early.

It was 6:13, and Mike hadn’t moved from his spot on the chair, head in his hands, since the clock had chimed. He pulls himself up now, though, as the footsteps draw closer.

What had Fritz called the guy? Jerard? James?

Whoever he was, he doesn’t pause by the window, instead moving to the door and peering inside. Mike glances warily back at him.

He’s tall, taller than Mike, with green eyes that remind him of his sisters. He’s all sun kissed skin, scars and angles, jaw firm but stubble free, and his hair, which is falling over his forehead in messy blonde tangles, is half covered by a black ribbed beanie.

“Knock Knock newbie, you alive?” The man drawls, looking him over, assessing, judging. His voice is deep, ragged, a barking noise filled with embers and heat. Mike resist the urge to fidget, shooting him a tired and deadpan stare.

“No, I’m dead, can’t you tell?”

“That’s the spirit.” He replies with a toothy smirk. “Get your ass hauling off that chair. You may not be dead, but you sure look it, and I don’t fancy lingering in this room long.”

He tugs at torn jeans, reaches a hand into his pocket, before pulling out a pre-rolled cigarette, tucking it behind his ear. Mike let’s out a heaving sigh, before pushing himself to his feet. The blonde gives him another glance over, before jerking his head, the universal sign to follow, and moving back down the way he’d come.

Mike blinks, stares, then follows on after quickly, giving one glance to the security booth with a grimace as he goes. He catches up to the mysterious J named male.

“Names Mike, right?”

“That would be me”

“I’m Jeremy” Well, at last Mike was vaguely close with the name. “Main mechanic to these asshole rust buckets.”

They breach the dining room. Mike’s eyes flicker over to the three on stage and he frowns. He purposefully doesn’t look to the cove.

“Fritz mentioned you… last night”

“How sweet of him” Jeremy snickers, moving languidly between the tables, towards a door at the back that Mike swears wasn’t there before. It’s situated to the right of the cove; tucked into the corner. There’s no label on the door. Confused, Mike follows, watching Jeremy unlock the door with a small whistle.

Mike’s skin crawls at being so close to the cove, but he pushes it away in favour of moving into the door now opened.

Much like Avery’s office, the room looks recently cleaned and furbished. It’s rather large, bigger than the security booth, and well lit. Behind him, Jeremy closes the door and meanders over to the comfy looking couch at the edge of the room. He splays himself out, legs crossed, arms by his side, and shoots Mike a curious glance.

Mike pulls his eyes away from the coffee machine and microwave in order to meet his gaze. Maybe to others it would be intimidating, but Mike’s too tired to care.

“So, have a fun first night?” The blonde asks, almost amused in a vindictive way. He knows, then, what they’re like at night. Their movements. He wouldn’t look so shit eating if he didn’t.

“You could say that” Mike replies after a moment, slowly moving over to the small armchair tucked in the corner, by the fridge, and curling up in it. “So glad I got an adequate warning”

Jeremy snorts, raising a brow. “Think anyone would take the job if they knew that the rust buckets turned murderous all night? Fuck naw, people wouldn’t give this place the time of day. People are already turned away by the rumours. Only idiots work the night shift here.”

Jeremy levels Mike with a raised brow, the indication in his words clear. Mike narrows his eyes back, unamused.

“My Mama told me not to believe in rumours” Not true, but whatever. Mike’s too tired to argue.

“Your ‘Mama’s’ wrong then” He replies, snorting. “You should just cut your losses and quit on the spot. You’re what, Sixteen? Seventeen?”

“I’m Nineteen” He grouches, tugging his legs up onto the armchair and resting his head on his knees. “And I can’t really afford to quit. Jobs don’t grow on trees”

“And you think your life does? You’ve already probably seen the way those shits move around, you’ve heard the recording. You think it’s all well and dandy, but I’ve been there for the clean-up” Jeremy looks less than impressed, tugging his cigarette from out behind his ear and pulling a lighter out of seemingly nowhere. The cigarette is lit, placed in his mouth. He takes a short drag and blows out, smoke curling in the air. “This job kills, you should quit while you’re ahead.”

“You practise this little speech before coming to pick me up?” He replies with a quirked brow. Maybe if he didn’t have a task to do here, he’d be out of the doors running. Unfortunately for Mike, he can’t afford to leave. More than money sits on the line.

Jeremy chews at the end of his cigarette, rolls his eyes, and looks away. “What the fuck ever. Don’t fucking blame me if your ass ends up shoved in a suit.”

“Morbid”

“You get used to it”

They sit in silence for a moment. Mike resisting the urge to fidget again, glancing away from the cool stare of the other. Jeremy watches Mike, not caring for the fact he’s staring.

The kid isn’t exactly skittish, but he’s definitely on edge. He’s as pale as it gets, and Jeremy hadn’t been joking when he’d said the other looks fucking dead. Dark rings under his eyes, mused black hair and a skinny frame that looks like it could fall over with a single blow of the wind. Jeremy snorts, drinking in the nicotine before letting it furl into the air.

Only suicidal idiots take this job, whenever Avery had the fucking guts to post it out. He’s not sure why he bothers, really. Unlike Amber and Fritz, he has no hope for the poor bastards that take this job.

“You want a coffee?” Jeremy finally asks, the silence going on too long, becoming annoyingly awkward. Mike glances back at him, pulling himself out of whatever dumb thoughts the kid had been lost in. 

“Uh, you’re not gonna try poison it to chase me away, are you?” He tries for an awkward smile, a small peace offering to cut the tension. Jeremy takes it.

“You’re idiot ass hasn’t run screaming from this place yet so I get a feeling you’re not going anywhere” Anywhere but a body bag, and Jeremy would have to pull out the damn pieces and scrubs the suits dry. Fuck, whatever. Across the room, the door slides open “Don’t tell me you’re a little pussy who likes sugar in his drink?”

“Who’re you calling a pussy?” Amber sticks her head in, Mike jumping and jerking his head to look at her, before slumping in the seat, tired.

“You. Who the fuck has sugar in their coffee?” Jeremy glances at Mike, who blinks back sluggishly. “If you also advocate sugar you’re dead meat, and not by the rust buckets hands, but mine.”

“Jeremy!” Amber yells at him, angered, offended. Jeremy snorts. Mike blinks, let’s out a small wheeze and shoots him back a toothy grin. He’s straightens in his chair slightly. The boy has backbone, spirit, Jeremy can tell from his flashes of sarcasm and snarky attitude, but it’s downplayed by his awkwardness. A small part of him hopes he lasts, but he squashes it down just as he has with all the others. No point getting attached to the dead.

“Black as my soul, please and thank you” Mike coughs out, shaking his head in amusement. Amber pouts in frustration, moving into the room and shooting Jeremy a glare before he can make an attempt for the coffee machine. It’s normal, a routine act for the two.

“Don’t listen to him Mike, he’s our resident meanie”

“Ooh, meanie. What the fuck is this, pre-school?” Jeremy snickers, lounging further back in his chair.

Amber let’s out a long suffering sigh, pulling three mugs from the chipped cupboards on the walls and flicking the machine on, looking to Mike. She’s hesitant, unsure. “Good morning by the way… how… how was the shift?”

Jeremy doesn’t miss the way her eyes flicker over him, looking for any injuries; Mike doesn’t miss it either. He shoots her a small smile, hoping it’s at least somewhat comforting.

“Mostly quiet, though Bonnie and Chica gave me a fright, and uh.. Foxy paid me a visit. That… that wasn’t fun” He rubs at his finger, and only now does Jeremy noticed how bruised it looks.

“You jam your finger in their eye socket or something, it looks more purple than the asshat bunny” Jeremy drawls. Amber glances at the finger, alarmed. Mike wonders, blinking in alarm as she abandons the coffee machine and draws closer, if he’ll ever be free from mother hens.

“Is it okay?” She fusses, fidgeting from foot to foot, hovering. “Do you want an ice pack? I’m pretty sure we’ve got one stashed away in the kitchen somewhere…”

“Stop fussing, it’s just a bruise” Says Jeremy, amused.

“I’m fine” Mike adds with wave, tucking his hands into his lap. “Just jammed the buttons too hard, don’t think my finger appreciated it”

Amber hums, eyes narrowing, before she nods. “Well that’s good then. Let me get you that coffee of yours, it’s the least I can do!”

Mike realises, as he watches her scurry back to the coffee machine, focused and jittery, that he still can’t remember her name. Fuck.

He feels kind of bad now. She’s nice, and reminds him of Charlie a little, hovering ad worried, but out of kindness. She seems nice. He wonders what she’s doing, working in a place like this.

“Thank you, I appreciate it” He manages out, his voice more a whisper now. He feels drained, emotionally mostly, and slumps back against the seat, eyes slipping closed. The room falls into a peaceful quiet. A lighter flicks on, the sound of the flame. The coffee machine chugs away, rumbling gently and outside of the room, he can hear the pizzeria power to life, can hear the footsteps as others move in, hear lights turn on, chairs shift.

Like this, in the quiet of the morning, the place almost seems normal.

“Here we go!” Mike blinks his eyes open, glancing to the cup held in front of him enticingly. He takes it grateful. The smell off the roasted beans is soothing, and he relaxes further into the seat.

“You look like you wanna marry the cup” Jeremy pipes up, glancing at him. He’s got his now lit cigarette hanging from his fingers while he takes the cup offered to him in the other hand. Amber giggles, the two sharing a look. 

“You’re not wrong there” He mutters, resisting the urge to blush in embarrassment. He blows gently on the liquid, waits a moment, then takes a sip.

Across from him, the blonde female opens a sugar packet and pours it into her coffee, adding some creamer after and swirling it all together into a lighter mix. She takes the seat next to Jeremy, sitting prim and proper. This time, she has a name badge. He hadn’t noticed it earlier, but he can see it plain as day this time. ‘Hello! My name is Amber!’ is written in fancy cursive above a smiling Freddy face.

He knew it started with A. At least he’s not completely incompetent.

“You don’t have to stay, you know?” Amber pipes up after taking a sip of her own drink. He glances at her. She’s shifting her gaze, glancing from him back to her drink. There’s a double meaning behind the words. Mike appreciates both of them, Fritz too. In their own way they’d all nudged him to leave. It showed a lot about the people they were. “You can head home. You look tired”

He wonders why they worked here, with everything they knew, but at the same time he understands perfectly the pull of Freddy Fazbears; how it grips you tight and holds you till death do part.

It’s like a drug; addictive and deadly.

“I’ll finish up my coffee and head home” He assures her with a wave of his hand, dodging the shadow of her words and taking them for face value. “Can’t waste a good cuppa’”

“See? The boy has sense” Jeremy snorts, flicking the end of his smoke into the ashtray on the small table to the right of the chair, snorting in amusement. “Some sense, not much, but it’s there.”

“I’m not a boy” He can’t help but grumble. He’s already a third of the way through his coffee. “I’m nineteen.”

“Oh wow, big shot here.” The blonde replies, smirking. Amber giggles again, her shoulder relaxing ever so slightly.

Mike ignores him with a sniff. The room falls back into a peaceful quiet.

It’s nice, Mike thinks, taking another sip of the bitter brew.

It’s a nice atmosphere, in the room. The loom of outside is cut off. The nerves fraying under his skin are tempered, he can’t feel the shadows of energy sparking from the meandering behemoths outside, doesn’t feel their presence, their eyes.

It’s a cooling balm that recedes the moment he steps out of the room, half an hour later, waving Jeremy and Amber goodbye. The workers, setting up for the day, stare at him as he passes, they move away when he walks past, like he’s cursed. In a way he is, though not in the way they’re thinking. All they see is the purple of his uniform.

The animatronics are on stage, but the curtains are closed. He can almost imagine them standing there as he walks by.

His nerves settle again only when he’s outside and the doors have shut behind him.

It’s cold outside, the frigid October air curling against his rosy cheeks. He adjusts his hat with a huff, only now remembering the fuzzy brown ears attached. He’s surprised Jeremy hadn’t mentioned; he seemed the kind of person to point them out, cackle at them.

With a shrug he pushes his hands in his pockets and moves towards his car, weaving past the few cars pulling into the parking lot. His plastic bag of goodies is still sitting waiting for him; he’d forgotten the bacon and turkey pre-packed sandwich he’d brought earlier and debates on eating both now, but decides against it. 

The drive home isn’t far, just a short trip into town, but it feels like it drags. He’s tired, he’s sore, and honestly, he kind of wants to just curl in bed and never come back out. He holds this mindset as he parks his car in the underground parking of his complex and makes his way to the apartment.

The door unlocks before he can even bring out his keys, and Mike moves on through, closing the door behind him. It locks with a click, untouched. Mike slumps against the wooden frame, letting out a slow breath and closing his eyes.

He’s not tired, just fatigued, worn thin. Today had been both everything like he’d thought, and nothing like he’d thought.

“Michael” The voice is soft, gentle.

“Mhm?” Mike raises his head slightly, cracking an eye open. Marion hovers, a finger reaching out, tracing over his ear and into his hair.

“He’s not dead?” Another voice pipes up, shrill and chittering. “What a shame”

Ennard can act like he doesn’t care but the relief in his electronic voice is evident, as is the way he hovers behind Marion, wired fingers clenching and unclenching.

“Can’t get rid of me that easily” Mike huffs with a smile, looking at the two. Marion’s frigid face melts into a smile and Ennard’s static grows to a small tingling laugh.

“How was it?” Marion asks, as if he’d gone out for lunch instead of facing a night cramped in a booth, wound up and high on adrenaline.

“Went better than I imagined” He replies, shrugging one shoulder. “Got a bruised finger and my shoulders hurting a bit. I let my guard down, and paid the price” He raises his bruised finger with a small pout. Marion let’s out a tinkling laugh, dark and strangely warm hands wrapping around his hand and finger. There’s a presence, briefly, his hand tingles, and when the puppet pulls away again, eyes bright, his bruise is gone and his finger is painfree.

“Aww, did M-Mummy kiss the boo boo better” Ennard snickers, lumbering closer, practically enclosing him against the door. Mike pokes at the wire bow-tie in annoyance with his now healed finger.

“Move it you hunk of junk, I’m tired and I don’t fancy standing here forever”

Ennard shuffles back, as does Marion. Mike takes the opportunity to slip by, moving right into the living room with a small huff. The hat is thrown onto the table sitting in the middle of the room, and a moment later he throws himself down on the longer sofa, claimed by him before Ennard could get his oil stained wires on it. His shoulder groans in protest at his rough treatment but he ignores it, curling on his side into the plush seat.

Marion appears not a moment later, tucking himself into a strange folded sit at the opposite end of the coach, and Ennard takes up his old armchair, taken from his previous dwelling.

“I should have believed you when you said they were sentient” Mike mumbles, glancing at Marion. If the puppet had eyebrows, they’d raise at him.

“I dwelled with them for a long while, Michael. They’re far more reserved to humans, but their sentience is just as pronounced as myself and Ennard.

“I didn’t think so at first.” Michael shrugs. “They’re good actors at glance, but their eyes give them away. They’re very… human.” He pauses tilting his head. “You know, I probably should have stayed longer, would have been good to see how they react throughout the day”

“Do not overburden yourself. You’ll have time to explore more later.”

“Rekcon you could sneak one of us in?” Ennard asks, tilting his head. His masks faceplates shift, his wires twitching against each other. Mike curls up against a pillow, hugging it to his chest, and shaking his head.

“Not this week. Everyone’s eyes are on me right now, think it’d be a bit obvious”

“Hide me under a sheet, I can pose as another ghost” Ennard replies, far too amused considering the topic. “They won’t even bat an eye.”

“To be fair, I think they’d pay more attention to my presence. Either they avoid me or they want me gone. Pushy, but also not? It’s weird. They’e indecisive… but nice. Well, the handful of people I’ve met are nice…” Mike pauses to yawn, covering his mouth as he does. “Nice, but indecisive.”

“They often are. Most resign themselves to the fates of the nightguards. The old location often had people go missing, long before the children” Marion sighs, glancing away.

“I don’t like you going there on your own” Ennard hisses, frustrated. “We can’t d-do anything if they get you e-e-e-ggs.”

“We’ve had this conversation multiple times” Marion interjects before Mike can. The human blinks languidly, looking between the two of them. He kind of wants to nap, too tired for the conversation at hand. “Humans are fickle and quick to act. If we give ourselves away too fast, we could compromise everything. We need to find-“

“Yes Yes” The jumble of wires waves a hand, letting off a stream of frustrated static. “I’m not stupid, silly. I know what the little plan i-i-issss” Doesn’t mean I have to like it”

“I like it about as much as you” The puppet replies. The two share a look, one frustrated, the other resigned, but both with a sense of unease in their frames.

Their human was fragile, more so than others, though not noticeable at first glance.

Ennard in particular knew of how breakable he was, had felt the others blood on his wires not that long ego. He vowed (And three other voices echoed their agreement deep down, everywhere and nowhere) that he wouldn’t allow that again. Eggs was _Ennards_ human and he’d protect the silly thing till his last dying static.

“I’ll rip them apart if they hurt him again” Ennard vocally proclaims. The golden eye on his arm jerks forward, predatory, as if affirming his words. His threat falls flat. Strong Ennard may be, it was doubtful he could take all four on at once.

“It will not come to that” Marion replies after a moment of pause, voice soft and thoughtful. “Restless ghosts still lie unwilling to sleep. I have no doubt Michael will be fine”

He does not elaborate. Ennard blinks, letting out a staticky tut in annoyance. The puppet is a mystery for him. He’d been born underground, only knew of events from retellings and stories and vague memories passed on by others.

He has no clue what the other talks about half the time, part of him doesn’t care.

“Ah” Ennard jerks back into focus at the gentle chime of the puppet, eyes drawing to the human on the couch. The wired amalgam lets out fizzled snicker.

Eggsie lays asleep, hugging the pillow by his side.

“Aww, how cute” He snickers, pulling himself up with a creek. His wires shift as he moves over, crouching in front of the sleeping male.

“He hasn’t been sleeping well recently” The puppet notes, as if Ennard didn’t know this already. “We should let him rest. If you wouldn’t mind”

The porcelain head turns to look at him. Ennard sighs dramatically, already moving to scoop up his human. Mike shifts, eyebrows furrowing, but doesn’t make another sound.

“So lazy” He drawls “Making me do all the work”

Neither comment on how quick the wired mess had been to react, or how he shuffles his companion carefully as not to disturb him.

Marion watches with a small smile, and for a moment he’s content.

And then the presence often laying asleep shifts and his mood drops. He let’s out a small sigh, pulls himself up from the couch and turns away.

A moment later he’s gone, with nothing left in his wake.

-

“So, what. You’re telling me the kid was pushed through by the higher ups himself?”

Avery watches Jeremy work, a small frown on her face. Amber stands next to her, carefully fixing the stitching to Chica’s bib. The animatronic in question watches the small gathering cheerfully, glancing between the lot of them, content on just listening.

“Like I told Fritz. I didn’t have much of a decision here, Jeremy. One moment I’m told to hold off setting the position up, the next I’m called to accept the newest nightguard”

She grimaces, crossing her arms over her chest. He shoots her an unimpressed look.

“You can look at me like that all you want, but I don’t have the answers for you.” She adds on, raising a brow.

“They never had a problem before with me or Fritz taking the nights when we’re out of a sacrifice to the demons themselves” He drawls, knocking on Chica’s side for emphasis. Avery winces at his treatment and blasé attitude. She can never understand his causal attitude, or how he stands so close to them during the day.

Avery has to keep her distance. She refuses to stand closer than necessary. These are the creatures who killed her husband, she’d be damned if she cozied up to them.

“Demon? I’m a chicken, silly!” Chica chirps, moving to look at Jeremy. He shoots her a small glare, waving his spanner in her face.

“No, you’re a pain in my fucking ass, is what you are” He hisses back. She giggles, Amber let’s out a small shaky sigh and Avery looks away.

Jeremy is a suicidal idiot that somehow still stuck on like gum on the bottom of a shoe, if Avery weren’t so constantly horrified by his uncaring attitude, she’d be impressed.

“Language” The animatronic playfully responds, watching him.

“What are you, my fucking mum?” He snarks, pauses, then shakes his head, turning back to Avery. “Not the point, getting off topic. Why in the fuck would they have a need for a guard so soon after the last. They normally wait a couple weeks to let rumours die down.”

“Strangely enough” Avery snipes. “I’m not privy to such information.”

He tuts in annoyance, turning back to tighten the mechanism on Chica’s arm. She shudders slightly, but makes no other reaction apart from tilting her head and letting out a metallic hum of thought.

“You’re talking about the one from last night?” She asks after a moment. Amber pauses mid stitch, looking up.

“Yep” Jeremy let’s out a longsuffering sigh.

“You should be careful” She says, voice becoming soft, gentle. She looks between the three, pink eyes sliding to a narrow. “He made foxy agitated. He was bathed in purple; drenched”

“That would be the uniform he wore, dipshit” Jeremy replies, unbothered. “And foxy’s always agitated. You look at him once and he has a hissy fit”

“Everyone’s purple, but they’re only splattered, a possibility” Chica replies, voice almost wistful. Even Jeremy pauses now, glancing at her, confused. She was the most sociable of the four, but was just as secretive as the rest, and completely dodged any questions on the motives behind her nightly activities, just as the others. It was alarming for her to be so vocal.

Jeremy places his spanner down on the table beside him, turning his focus fully on her.

“And the kids not?” He asks, not even knowing what she meant by splattered with purple, or how the kid was somehow different.

“He’s the worst I’ve seen for a long time” She confesses, turning her head to look at him. “Be careful. The ones we allow to stay are the closest to trusted. We wouldn’t want to loose any of you”

Avery fully shivers at her wording, even Jeremy looks vaguely disturbed. Amber let’s out a small hiss, pricking herself on accident whilst trying to listen and sow. She pulls her bleeding finger to her mouth and sucks on it lightly.

“Yeah, no one has any clue what the fuck you’re on about” Jeremy says after a moment, The first of the three to move past the shared moment of trepidation between the three humans. Whilst it was vaguely alarming for him, it was so muted and far away that it barely affected him.

“Hopefully, you won’t ever need to” The animatronic replies with a nod. The mood is sombre, atmosphere heavy, and then Chica wiggles her arm, optics adjusting. “Jeremy, you’re being so slow today! Chop chop, I’ve got cute little kiddies to entertain and I can’t do that with only one arm working!”

Avery lets out a small shaky sigh, turning away. “I’ll leave you be, I have a meeting soon I can’t miss” She says, straightening herself. Jeremy doesn’t protest her leaving and she’s thankful for that. She makes her way back to her office, locks the door behind her, slumps down in her seat. The picture on the table stares back at her.

She wants to forget every word Chica spoke. Want’s to ignore the sudden shift of atmosphere, the knowledge offered. Everything is suddenly kicking in to motion and she doesn’t have an inkling of a clue why.

She resists the urge to allow the tears brimming in her eyes to slip, too tired and too old to cry like a little girl. Her hand reaches for the picture on the desk, finger tracing the smiling face depicted.

“Henry you fool” She mutters, a tired cold hatred watered down by time. “What’ve you pulled me into”

-

_No matter how far away he walked, the door was always behind him._

_He’d moved through the corridor for what felt like hours, wanting to get further away._

_Further from the old wooden door, newly painted. From the window peering out the back yard and the dark shadows surrounding him._

_No matter how much he ran, walked, sprinted. No matter how hard he tried, it would not work. The door was always looming to his side._

_He felt breathless, spaced. He was shorter than he should be, his normal height. He was covered in blood and spotless._

_The door loomed._

_In the dark, something shifts and Mike freezes. He hasn’t moved, he’s moved so far. The door is still behind him, half open, bleeding light out into the hallway. Against the window to his other side, something gently knocks._

_He doesn’t look._

_At the end of the endless corridor that’s always just out of reach, something lingers. He can feel its eyes staring into him, golden or red or maybe even green; a murky green, not vibrant and bright._

_It steps closer and Mike takes a step back._

_The door looms._

_He has a decision; to face the darkness, the guttural growl, sharp teeth and menacing grin, or to go inside._

_The door looms, but not as much as the figure at the end of the hall._

_He turns, grabs the handle and pushes through into the light, heart racing, breath heavy._

_It’s a bedroom with two doors and a large bed in the middle, double despite it obviously being a child’s room. A closet sits opposite the bed, embedded in the wall._

_Mike closes the door behind him, slumps again it._

_“Are you hiding too?”_

_Mike jolts, eyes open, and stares at the small child standing beside him, a torch clutched in his hand._

_“Are you hiding too?” The child repeats, taking a step closer. Mike blinks. Behind him, through the door, he can hear something coming closer. He nods, hands shaking._

_“Yeah, I’m hiding too”_

_“We can hide together then” The child decides, Mike nods again. His brain feels fuzzy, like it’s stuffed with cotton. He can’t remember what he’s doing here, where he is, only that he hates this room, but he hates whatever’s on the other side of the door even more._

_The child takes his hand and Mike jolts again in surprise. He grips the pale skin, too pale. Like a ghost. The small child grips back._

_He wonders who the child is, but the words to ask wont come out._

_The child tugs him along, closer to the bed. He follows along, stumbling slightly. His body feels numb and sluggish. The child sits carefully down on the edge of the bed and mike follows._

_They sit there, silent for a moment._

_“Tonight won’t be so bad. Don’t be scared, okay?” Says the child, looking up at him with bright blue eyes. Mike nods down at him, managing a small smile. “I’ll protect the both of us”_

_“Okay”_

_They sit there, silent for a moment._

_To the right, floorboards creek. The child jumps off of the bed in a flash, letting go of Mike and clutching his small torch in his hand. He opens the door wider, leaning out into the dark, head tilted._

_Listening._

_Mike stares, horrified. The child can’t see, why can’t he see? Not-Chica looms like a shadow, staring down, ragged and rough and dangerous_

_The child doesn’t notice._

_And then he does, though he doesn’t see what Mike does. He hears her, though, and a moment later the door is shut._

_Mike’s frozen in place, his body feels locked up, wound like a spring trap. He wants to pull the child towards him, away from the nightmarish visage of not-chica._

_“You have to be careful, they like to sneak up on you” The child says, glancing back at him. “You should never let down your guard”_

_“I know” He wheezes out, hands clenching in his lap. Behind him, the bed shifts and the child’s light shines towards him. Chattering static of laughing creatures blare, and then they’re gone._

_Mike still can’t move._

_He feels fraught with panic and simultaneously deadly calm. His mind is a warzone between freaking out and accepting the circumstance._

_“We’ll be okay” Hands are over his. The child is standing in front of him; so small and thin. He’s dressed in striped blue pyjamas._

_“We won’t” Mike replies. He doesn’t know why he thinks that_

_“We will” The child grips his harder, eyes widening. “We have to be”_

_“We let him in”_

_“He’s always been in, silly. You have to face him”_

_Mike pauses, inhaling a sharp breath._

_“I don’t want to”_

_It comes out before he can think. That doesn’t make it any less true._

_The child watches him. To the right, the presence looms closer and in front of him, straight ahead, the doors of the wardrobe shudder._

_“That’s okay” The child soothes, smiling up at him. Mike meets his gaze and for a moment the little bubble of safety is enough._

_It’s easy to ignore the looming threats around, with the childs smile so sweet._

_“That’s okay” The child repeats. “You’ve got time”_

_“I do?” He asks. The child nods._

_“All the time in the world, Michael.” The child pauses, glancing to the right. Mike follows his gaze. There’s nothing there. “You should wake up now”_

_“What?”_

_“You should wake up now.”_

_“Wake up?”_

Against the window to his right, something knocks. Mike jerks awake, breath heavy and eyes wide. He clutches his chest, stares at the window.

It takes him a moment to realise his surroundings. He’s in bed, still in his work uniform. The sky is dark, but not worryingly so. How long had he slept?

Mike carefully extracts himself from the bed, still staring at the window. 

There’s nothing thee, but he still approaches cautiously, footsteps light. He runs a hand over the windowsill, looks out over the darkening sky.

He must have been imagining the tapping, he muses, letting out another shaky breath. His mind is cotton filled rom jerking awake, and the memories of the vaguely alarming dream already fade to noting. He remembers striped pyjamas, but not much else.

“E-Eggsie?” When had the door opened? Mike turns, looks over his shoulder. Ennard sways in the doorway, light filtering behind him. He’s a menacing sight, all tangled wires and dark shadows.

Mike smile lightly, feeling oddly calm.

“How long did I sleep for? I feel like I’ve been out for hours”

Ennard let’s out a small snicker. “Most of the day, couldn’t wake ya, even if we tried. You left your bag by the d-door.”

He vaguely remembers dropping it upon closing the door when he’d gotten home. Oops. “Must have been more tired than I thought” He replies with a shrug, yanking hs hat off his head. Somehow it had managed to stay on. “I’m gonna head and have a shower. I feel gross”

He wrinkles his nose up. Moving around the bed, towards the door. Ennard takes several lumbering steps back to allow him to pass.

“I can smell you from here” Ennard teases. They make their way down the corridor. Mike pouts at the animatronic.

“Lies, you can’t smell shit”

“Well If I could, I bet you smell like a wet sock”

“You don’t even know what a wet sock smells like you ass!”

There voices recede as they move away, animatronic and human, side by side.

Against the window to the right, something knocks one final time. Something presses up against the glass, fingers trailing. No one hears it.

And then the next second it’s gone, and the room falls to silence.


	4. Part One, Chapter 4: Run Fox Run

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a whole ass month late apologies U-U   
Hoping to get the next chapter out later, I got a bit stuck midway with this one, but its finally out!   
Yoshhh...  
I hope you enjoy ^^ 
> 
> This hasn't been beta'd yet, just a heads up!
> 
> Blatant Twitter and Twitch plug <3   
https://www.twitch.tv/devilbuni  
https://twitter.com/BuniDevil

“Uhh, Hello? Hello?”

Mike let’s out a small groan, pulling himself up from his slouch and stares at the phone in front of him.

His hair was still wet from his earlier shower, uniform sprayed with deodorant. He’d have to wash it later today, and not fall asleep in it.

“Uh, well, if you’re hearing this and you made it to day two, uh, congrats!”

“Thanks” Mike deadpans, grabbing at the tablet on the desk and pulling it into his lap. He flicks the screen on, glancing at Chica, Bonnie and Freddy on stage, then flicks to Pirate cove. All is calm.

“I-I won’t talk with you for quite as long this time since Freddy and his friends tend to become more active as the week progresses. Uhh, it might be a good idea to peek at those cameras while I talk, just to make sure everyone’s in their proper place. You know…”

“Thank you, for the life changing advice” Mike drawls, feeling tired and worn but strangely relaxed; calm. He flicks back to the stage. Phone guy was at least right on his remarks. Bonnie was now standing at the base, obviously having stepped off. Damn, he hadn’t been kidding.

“Uh… interestingly enough, Freddy himself doesn’t come off stage very often. I heard he becomes a lot more active in the dark though, so, hey, I guess that’s one more reason to not run out of power, right?

Mike briefly closes down the screen, shooting the phone a sour glare. Was death not enough? His brain sarcastically echoes.

“I just want to emphasize the importance of using your door lights. There are blind spots in your camera views, and those blind spots happen to be right outside of your doors.”

Mike flicks the camera back up. Bonnie’s trailing next to the tables but pauses as the camera flickers on, jerking to look at the lens. Mike stares him down for a moment. He still can’t help the small smile on his face.

Listen, murderous or not, Mike had a soft spot for all of the bunny animatronics, and Bonnie, this version, sat just below his most favourite. He couldn’t help the fond butterflies in his chest, even if the asshole had taken a pass at him last night.

He waves at the camera, as if the other can see, and flicks back to the cove briefly, before switching away, sitting on the west hall.

“So if-if you can’t find something, or someone, on your cameras, be sure to check the door lights. Uh, you might only have a few seconds to react… uh, not that you would be in any danger, of course.”

Mike blinks, pauses, looks to the phone, expression deadpan.

“I’m not implying that”

Mike let’s out a snort, both disgusted and amused, and turns back to his screen, switching to the stage. Holy fuck, he’s not even five minutes in and the bunny is heading straight for the hallway, pausing again and staring up at him, nearly out of sight from the camera.

“Also, check on the curtain in the Pirate Cove from time to time. The character in there seems unique in that he becomes more active if the cameras remain off for long periods of time.”

“Wow, thanks for this vital information. Would’a sure been useful last night, asshat”

“I guess he doesn’t like being watched?”

Well those two sentences made absolutely no sense. Check the cameras because the crazy fox didn’t like being watched? Sounded more like the more he looked, the more pissed foxy would get.

Mike let’s out a small shiver. He doesn’t want to piss off Foxy, the idea makes him feel sick, yet he feels he will just by existing.

Some things never change.

“I don’t know” Phone guy goes on to sigh, Mike can practically  _ feel _ the awkward shrug of the other. “Anyway! I’m sure you have everything under control! I’ll leave you to your second night! Uh… talk to you soon!”

The phone cuts out with a staticky bleep. Mike shifts in his seat, glances to his left. He checks on Chica, somewhat paranoid to keep an eye on her. She's still in place, though is looking at the camera. Mike shivers, an unbidden memory of clawed fingers and a dilapidated outer shell reaching for a small ghostly child entering his mind. 

He switches away from the Main stage, glancing at the west wing. Bonnie moves down the hallway, motions a mix of fluid and robotic. He watches the Bunny with a small sigh, noting the pause as the animatronic glances to him, ears twitching, 

"Yeah, Yeah. Nice to see you again too" He calls. He's 99 percent sure the other can hear him, if the twitching of his ears and they way they turn towards his direction is anything to go by. Unlike last night, Bonnie doesn't try anything when arriving at the door, instead tucking himself in the corner whilst Mike is checking on Chica again, and approaching a few minutes later, only to be stopped by the cold slam of metal. "Yeah not this time, sorry."

Bonnie lingers for a few more minutes, and by this time about 15 minutes have passed. He finally opens the door again the moment the Bunny has made it to the end of the hall again, checking his power before opening the screen again. 

Chica is missing, but a quick search shows her clanging about in the kitchens, not that he can actually see in there.

Why the kitchen camera isn't working, he really doesn't want to know.

Bonnie ends up lingering in the main stage room for about half an hour, giving way for Chica to meander down the right corridor and get the same treatment as her counterpart. 

Mike watches her through the small window. She peeks in a minute after the door closes, staring at him. He stares back, leaning closer - but not before checking on Bonnie, and Foxy just to be safe - and looking back at her. Her eyes are the same colour of pink as Bon Bon's, if not a little bit lighter and less vibrant. She looks much less menacing than his dream counterpart.

He's surprised he even remembers dreaming about her. He can't remember much else. 

"What do you actually do in the kitchen" He can't help but asking, not expecting a response. "Do you cook?" He pauses, blinking. "Can you cook? I wish I could"

He leans back in his chair with a small hum, thinking. Marion can bake, but can't cook for anything. Ennard is hopeless at anything but smearing butter on himself and calling it a day. 

"I can cook" 

Mike pauses, jerks. He'd leant back in his chair while mid thought but straightens up and watches her, eyes wide. 

"I help prepare the pizza's for the day staff, mainly when we have a party scheduled" Chica tilts her head, her bottom lids raising almost as if in amusement.

"You talked."

"You're a bit slow, aren't you sweetie?" She giggles, leaning closer. Mike blinks again, practically jumpstarting his brain to co-operate. He briefly glances back at his monitor, makes sure he's not being snuck up on again then looks back at her. 

"Sorry, uh... I didn't think you'd reply."

She watches him. "I wasn't expecting too either" She admits, her shoulder plates shrugging. 

They stare at each other. Chica to Mike, Mike to Chica. He feels like he sits there for ages, but in reality it's only a minute or two, and then;

"You should close the other door, Bonnie's coming"

"And you're helping me, why?" He says, sceptical, but still sliding over to close the door behind him. He hears Bonnie a second later stepping closer. Huh. 

When he turns back, Chica is side-eyeing him, turned to leave. "I thought you were purple, but you look more blue on closer inspection. Think of his as a onetime favour" She tells him, as if that’s supposed to make any sense. "You remind me of someone" She adds on.

And then she's gone, and Mike's left feeling lost and confused. He gives her a moment, then hesitantly opens the door on her side, opening the left door a minute after Bonnie recedes. Foxy is checked, He glances at Chica back on stage, Bonnie in the back room, then momentarily turns the screen off. 

“What the fuck?”

-

_ “What was that about?” _

_ “I’m thinking.” _

_ “I could have gotten him” _

_ A brief shake of a head, not that the other could see. “No, he’s being too vigilant.” A pause. A sigh. “He’s strange.” _

_ “Yeah I know. I don’t like it” _

_ “All tha’ better to be gone with ‘m quickly then” Another voice growls, a single golden eye peaking out between curtains. _

_ “Perhaps” The female voice replies, tilting her head. She glances at the camera, then away. She’d been so sure he looked blue, standing up close. _

_ A small timid part of her wanted to reach for him. _

_ She pushed it down. She couldn’t do this, couldn’t go against her own words. _

_ Her optics must be getting old, mistaking purple for blue. _

_ “Sorry. I’ll focus up” _

_ “Chica?” _

_ “I’m fine, Bonnie. Don’ worry about me” _

-

Mike mulls in thought for another minute or so, but quickly brings himself away from his confusion the moment he notices one golden eye peaking out from the cove. He shivers, grimacing, and switching the camera off briefly.

He’d have to ask Marion about Chica’s vague words. Also, the fact she’d even spoken.

But now wasn’t the time to think about that.

He switches the camera back up, flashes over the back room where Bonnie is fiddling with the red guitar on the table, towards the stage where Freddy stands inanimate and Chica is lingering by.

Back to the cove.

Back to the backroom.

Back to the stage.

Chica’s moving off towards the bathrooms. She doesn’t spare him a glance as she walks off of the screen.

Back to the Cove.

“Oh fuck off”

Foxy peers out of the cove, eyes glaring up at the camera just as he had last night. Mike rolls closer to the left, peering out into the gloom briefly then sticking his head back in the office.

He probably shouldn’t linger on Foxy, but he doesn’t want to deal with the other sprinting again.

He hasn’t got much of a choice though.

As useless as he is, phone guy’s words were his only survival guide, excluding his own brief stint with Ennard.

He switches back to Bonnie, then checks on Chica.

He can feel his body thrumming with tension, hands steadying as he switches back to the cove.

Just as before, Foxy is crouched like a sprinter, claw clicking menacingly against the floor. Out of the three, he moves the fastest. It’d barely been a whole minute of camera switching.

Mike stares down at the camera, unsure whether the burning hatred in his gut is towards the animatronic or the visage his mind links with it. Fear flashed underneath like a current, but it’s washed away by adrenaline.

Mike checks on Chica. He check on Freddy. He checks on Bonnie.

He checks on the cove.

And immediately slams the button to his left.

Unlike the night before he feels calm; body tense but mind calm. He can hear the exposed metal of Foxy’s feet hit against the tiles as he sprints for the door.

And then the banging. He’d forgotten the banging.

He winces at the first, glancing away, towards the open door to his right.

Again and again the animatronic attacks the door, as if trying to break in. Mike’s not surprised if that’s his goal.

He takes a deep breath, steadies his nerves; pulls his camera up off his lap and concentrates.

The banging falls to background noise, then diminishes entirely. He checks on everyone again, notes the sudden drain of his power with Foxy’s assault; He checks the time.

It’s 1:16am; not bad, but he could do better on power management.

Mike let’s out a small breath, turning towards the closed door, intent on opening it.

And freezes like a deer caught in a headlight.

Foxy stares at him through the window, hook resting carefully on the glass.

All of the carefully built calm in Mike shatters as he stares at the glass, eyes widening in horror.

_ Can he break through the glass? _

The hook slowly slides down the surface, screeching out, scratching it up, marking it. Leaving an indent.

There’s intent on Foxy’s eyes. It’s a warning, a threat.

Mike shakes. He’s not breathing.

The hook recedes, and in his mind, he can see it crash through the glass; swing towards him.

Instead the pirate pulls back, into the shadows.

Mike’s not breathing.

He really should breath.

Like.

_ Now. _

He takes a breath. His lungs hurt and his hands are shaking but he’s okay.

Just spooked.

God, he hates Foxy.

He gets the nerve to check on him after a few steady breaths, noting the closed curtain and quickly switching away. Bonnie’s in the main room, Chica’s making her way up the right hall slowly.

He’s okay.

Foxy was going to be a pain; not just for his heart and nerves, but for his power.

He let’s out another shaky breath, sliding over to close the door on Chica. She doesn’t approach the window this time, and he doesn’t call out to her.

He doesn’t want to look at any of them at the moment.

God, this night was already ten times worse than the last.

Mike spends the next three hours draining power steadily. Unlike the night before, Chica and Bonnie seem far more eager to pass him by more often. Bonnie is his most frequent visitor; sometimes simply lingering mid-way down the hall before, darting off into the supply closet, and sometimes coming up to him.

Chica is less frequent, but still present. He always catches her watching him through the window.

Foxy comes one more time just before the clock strikes three. Mike shudders minutely at the impact against the door.

This time Foxy simply retreats into the dark after his tantrum; it doesn’t leave Mike any less on edge.

By the time he’s reached a semblance of calm, he’s got an hour left. His breath is steady, hands have stopped shaking. Foxy has been quiet ever since his recent stint; Bonnie walks down to his left and Chica is potting about in the kitchen again. This time he knows what she’s up to… it’s somewhat endearing.

“Heyo Bunny boy” He mutters, flicking the doors closed as Bonnie moves near. His leg hasn’t stopped jiggling up on down since his second Foxy encounter, and he’s struggling to keep his focus, but he’s hanging on.

He flicks his camera’s up. He’s got 29% left, and an hour to go. As long as Foxy doesn’t go for another run, he should hold up fine. He checks the cove – all good there – hen the kitchen. Chica’s still lingering about, the sound of drawer doors opening distracting him briefly. Freddy hasn’t budged an inch tonight, staring straight ahead.

Bonnie eventually wanders away and Mike raises the door once again, switching the camera’s to the sage where the Bonnie once again stands next to, then to the back room.

There’s a brief moment of peace and Mike’s going to use it the best he can. He scans over the shelving, keeping an ear out as he does. It’s filled with spare heads, electronic parts and endoskeleton limbs. There’s a large table in the middle with a large golden slumped suit and a black jacket, one he can now identify as Jeremy’s.

He flicks away with a small hum, glances to the supply closet; the Cove again. Bonnie’s lingering by the tables, Foxy’s not making a peep, Chica’s-

Wait

Mike freezes, taps his nail three times against the screen.

Let’s out a shaky laugh.

His brain was playing tricks on him. Right?

He switches to the back room.

To the table.

It sports nothing but a jacket.

“Ha” Mike shakes his head, grimacing. “Really funny, brain; hilarious”

He switches away, back to the main stage. His heart thumps, ringing in his ears. It’s beating so loud he can almost taste he metallic of his own blood.

_ The posters to his right flicker gold, then back to the white and crayon rainbow. _

He lets out a heavy huff, checking the time, then his power, then the main stage.

Then he lowers his screen, leans back.

Stares at the ceiling for a moment.

“I’m going mad. I mean, I knew I was beforehand, but this is a whole new level of mad” He decides, tugging at strands of his hair. He wants to rip till it bleeds, just to prove he’s awake.

He resists the urge, tugging a few more times before letting his arms fall in his lap heavily.

The screens flick back on. He spends another few minutes switching between Bonnie and Chica.

The lull of the end of the night settles in his bones about 10 minutes to spare, the male having shut the door one last time on Chica to the right.

For some reason, Bonnie hadn’t come back to the office, instead deciding to awkwardly linger in the backroom – where Mike has only looked at once after the whole mind playing tricks on him shit – and the main room.

Mike let’s out a small sigh, glancing at his watch; the numbers tick down slowly.

Unless either of the two were planning on racing it down the hallway to him last second, he should be fine. He keeps an ear out though just in case, flicking his screen up every now and then to check on them.

He’s tired, his shoulder is kind of sore. He rolls the shoulder, stretches it out to the side of him, flicks the camera’s idly to the main stage, let’s out a small yawn, leans back further in his chair.

Freezes.

Blinks.

Straightens himself slowly in his chair.

Animatronics tend to have routines.

They have a set way of doing things, a set path that even with sentience, effects how they come to you, how they react to you. Ballora and Funtime Foxy are perfect examples.

He’d assumed that this locations were the same; expected it.

Mike stares ahead at the poster on the wall, slowly lowering his hands into his lap.

The hairs on his neck raise; he can feel his heart tremor.

Animatronics tend to have routines.

So why in the  _ fuck _ was Foxy standing at the window, silently staring at him.

-

“I’m just sayin’ pretty sure if there’s an empty suit there I could probably slither in”

“And I could get Michael to lug my box there, but as much as I hate to agree with Michael on this, he’s correct in saying we’d most likely be found out. Animatronics tend to be paranoid and vigilant over their territory. You know this better than anyone.”

“Boooo” Ennard huffs, splayed out on his rickety kitchen chair in a frighteningly human like position. For being a mess of personalities and animatronics, there was something painfully human about the creature.

“I’m not actually sure if you’d fit in the older models. You might be a tad too tall” Marion adds on, resting opposite the other, knees tucked under him and a needle in hand. He’s carefully stitching up a tear in one of Mikes older t-shirts.

Ennard watches him. He’s never had a mother and doesn’t really know what they should be like; duh he’s a hunk of metal, but he thinks Marion comes close. Eggsie often calls the black puppet a Mother-hen, all protective and ruffled.

Ennard’s been on the receiving end of the others wrath and can agree.

The black devil pampers the human. It’s kinda funny considering all things.

Ennard snickers at his own train of thinking, faceplate clicking and shifting around.

“I could just shed a bit, I probably could if I dd so” He replies half-heartedly, waving a hand. 

Marin let’s out a vaguely amused hum, focusing back on his stitching.

Ennard huffs, watching him. He shifts in his seat, fiddles with some of the wiring on his hand.

He’s bored. He hates being bored it gets his wires all in a jumble. He wants to do something, wants to go to Eggsie. He doesn’t like his human being so far away.

He lets out an annoyed hiss, shifting in his seat again.

“Not long left” Marion soothes. Ennard twitches, glances out the kitchen window. It’s still dark out, but then again it’s October.

Neither Animatronics say anything else, Instead basking in the silence, one fidgeting more than the other.

Neither hear, or notice, the metal fingers sliding under the window frame in the room not far, and the glowing eyes peering in. The tree branch outside the window sways, the fingers recede, leaving the window slightly open.

The world moves on.

-

It’s like a Mexican stand-off, but instead of both having guns, Foxy has an entire arsenal and Mike has nothing.

His body is screaming at him to move. His body is also locked up in position, heart hammering in his chest. He hates it here. Hates it.

Foxy isn’t moving, simply staring at him, glaring in.

He hadn’t heard him run, hadn’t seen any discrepancies with Pirate Cove.

How had he reached the door without Mike noticing?

He hadn’t been slacking, he’d been vigilant if a bit tired. He’d checked that fucking hallway multiple times.

_ Click. Click _ .

Mike jumps slightly. He still doesn’t look.

He stares ahead, not wanting to acknowledge the existence of the other.

Foxy’s hook hits the glass gently. Tapping over and over.

It’s a Mexican standoff, Mike has no arsenal against a tank with ammo, and he’s pretty sure if he makes a break for the door, he won’t get there in time.

_ Fuck _ .

Mike isn’t in a fucking Mexican standoff, he’s a lamb waiting for slaughter.

_ Click. Click _ .

He doesn’t remember Foxy being this tall, but out of the corner of his eye all he can say is the monster looms.

He’s all teeth and tatters and sharp edges.

Unlike Ennard who sways back and forth, Bonnie who twitches and Chica who languidly moves and fidgets, Foxy is still.

Perfectly still.

A predator.

A hunter.

And he’s trained on Mike like a bloodhound.

It’s in that moment Mike makes a fatal mistake.

Foxy’s hook presses against the glass and makes another shrieking scratch. Mike jumps again, head whipping around before he can think.

He stares into Foxy’s eyes. Foxy stares back, shifts.

Shrieks and  _ curves around the door, teeth shining under the shitty blinking lights. _

Mike reacts in panic. He pushes back to stand up but does so too quickly. His chair falls back, hitting the ground hard.

The hook swings towards him and Mike attempts to backpedal, eyes widening in alarm.

His feet are tangled in the chair. He can’t move fast enough and, in his efforts, to jerk away, he trips.

He falls.

The hook falls too, curling towards him. It hits first, before he collides back with the lockers behind him. Pain blossoms across his face and lips.

A second later, he collides backwards, legs tangled and strewn over the office chair. His back hits the lockers, followed by his head.

His head rings, eyes seeing stars.

Foxy looms over him.

Mike scrambles, simultaneously grabbing at the chair and kicking his legs out of is hold, staring up at Foxy. Eyes wide.

The fox looms so tall he blocks out the light from above, haloed by a stuttering weak glow.

He advances on the human, hook glinting with blood. Mike pushes himself back.

Up against the meeting between the locker and the wall.

Pain blossoms throughout his body, his heart races.

He can’t breathe, chest rising and falling erratically. He can feel blood dripping on his skin, down his chin and in his mouth.

His vision stutters.

He manages to get the chair out from under him, pulling it closer, holding the arms and facing the legs forward.

As if that would stop the monster.

Foxy takes another step.

_ Jason takes another step, cackling behind his mask as he stands over Michael. _

A whimper escapes his mouth before he can stop it, tears gathering in his eyes. The hook comes crashing down again.

He raises the chair best he can, but it doesn’t do much. The hook catches on one of the legs, pulling it out of his grasp.

It slams against the desk, smashing one of the useless monitors and causing the unplugged fan to fall.

Mike’s shaking, breath heavy. He feels slow, sluggish. He can barely think. Barely breath.

Foxy lets out a guttural hiss of annoyance. Takes another step; raises his hook. 

_ And the jaunty tune on the security pad chimes.  _

Foxy freezes, staring down at him. Mike's tears are silent, curling down his cheeks. 

Yellow eyes blink, look at him, look at the tablet, look back. 

The hook slowly lowers. 

Mike is tense, hands bunched by his side as he half lays prone on the floor. 

“You be a lucky one” A voice growls. Mike tenses up further, staring at the fox. “But ya’ luck won’t last forever” 

Foxy stares down at him, as if waiting for an answer. Maybe he finds one in the half-vacant stare of the human below him, maybe he doesn’t. 

But no matter, he retreats either way. His steps are loud, purposefully so. They’re taunting him. 

Mike breathes, staring at the door. 

Waiting for him to come back.

For it to be another joke, another game to play on him. 

He’ll come in here.

Rip his throat out. 

Nothing happens. The tablet stops chiming, the footsteps fade. 

Mike shakes, shivers, his breath is nothing but painful pants. 

He sinks further down onto the floor, body slowly untensing, turning to dust. He closes his eyes and wishes to any god still alive that maybe, just maybe, this is all just another sick dream. 

He opens them again; it’s not. 

If Mike spends several more minutes blankly staring at the wall across from him, face buzzing with pain and tears streaking his skin, no one has to know. 

There’s a fluttering part of him still panicking, but it’s quenched by the survivor. That animal curve in his brain that wrenches him out of shock and finally gets his limbs moving.

Second night and second time he’s been laid flat on the floor after coming close to death. He’s really not doing as good as he thought he’d do. 

Mike breaths out, breath still shaky. He manages to push himself to a seated position. His back aches. His legs ache, and his head is throbbing hot. He hunches, hands stabilizing on his knees and neck hanging. 

Glassy blue eyes stare down at the floor, watching the blood dripping drop by drop onto the black and white tiles. 

He feels limp and lifeless. 

He doesn’t even have the energy to wipe the tears from his face. It wouldn’t matter either way, they’re not stopping. A silent stream. 

“Fuck” He hisses, eyebrows furrowing. He drops from his hands supporting him to his elbows, curling in further. Pale fingers shake in front of him, covered in blood and dust. He has a cut at the joint of his thumb. 

“Fuck, I can do this” He whines, hands clenching in his hair. He’s a pin drop away from falling apart. “I  _ can” _

Despite this, he doesn’t move. He sits there, hunched and drawn in, breathing shallow and weighted. 

The clock ticks. The sun rises. 

He has no energy, the adrenaline and fear draining it from him. 

He’s only half aware of his surroundings, as dingy and death filled as they are. 

He’s more focused on just keeping himself together. He’s stitching up a hole over and over again, keeping himself from deteriorating. The more he stitches the bigger the holes get.

It’s getting harder to keep himself going. 

This is how Fritz finds him, ten minutes later. 

The dark haired male pauses in the doorway, lingers. Eyes widen slightly. 

“You look like fucking hell, holy shit” 

It’s not that Mike jumps and squeaks like a little girl, but it’s close. He flinches away, stares at Fritz, dragged out of his half-delirious staring. 

“Warn a man?” He croaks out. Fritz blinks, snorts, moves forward. He crouches down and Mike resists the urge to flinch. 

“Look at you man, Holy shit. Who got in? Wait, I don’t even have to ask. Foxy ran at ya’” Fritz carefully tilts Mike’s head up, thumb pressing into his chin. He frowns. “He did a number on ya, yeesh”

“More like snuck up like a complete and utter asshole” Mike wheezes out, trying to keep still. Now that the rush and panic had faded a little, especially with the sight of another human, the stinging pain in his face was rearing its big fat ugly head. 

“What?” Fritz pauses, awkwardly half-crouched. “You probably just missed him, never heard of Foxy sneaking. If anyone sneaks it’s-”

“I’m not lying,” Mike replies, frowning. The tug on his lip causes him to wince. Fuck. 

Fritz stares at him a moment longer and Mike fidgets. He becomes acutely aware of the fact he was still half-crying. 

“Okay” The other replies, slow, as if he didn’t believe him. “Well let’s get you cleaned up first, yeah? And you can tell me what happened”

Tell him what happened?

Tell him that he froze up and cried like a crybaby? He let his guard down, again, and somehow his second-worst fear snuck up and screwed him to hell and back? Tell him how he’s pretty sure he’s going to die here, miserable and alone, and carry on the family fucking legacy.

“Sure” He sighs, too tired to argue, too tired for emotions. He wants to go home. “Sure, sounds good”

The older male seems stuck on what to do, but eventually after an awkward half a minute of staring, releases the teens face and instead extends the same hand, an offering. Mike takes it with a huff and wheeze. 

He’s dizzy, and everything aches, but he’s alive, if a little bit out of it.

“You’re not gonna pass out on the way to the break room, right?”

“Mhm”

“Cool cool. I’m weak as shit, so if you do i’m dragging your ass”

“Damn, not even a princess carries? Where’s the chivalry” 

Fritz snorts, shooting him a small grin. It makes Mike feel better, slightly. “Alright Peach, cool your jets” 

He doesn’t complain at the way Fritz practically leads him out of the room, or the hand hovering by his back. 

It makes it a little bit easier for Fritz to catch him when he falls into a dead faint two seconds out of the room. 

The last thing he’s aware of is a curse behind him and a splash of yellow in front before he’s swallowed by darkness. 


End file.
